The Killing Darkness, a Yamishipping collection
by Daimeryan Rei
Summary: Collection of Yamishipping fics written for the (now defunct) Yami no Fics community @ LiveJournal. Also contains Psychoshipping, Clashshipping and Darkshipping, please read individual warnings/summary for every fic.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Darkness Before Me  
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Characters: Yami no Yuugi & Yami no Bakura & Yami no Malik (Yamishipping)  
Rating: PG, a little violence, mention of blood  
Summary: A game can be played in several ways… and sometimes a game can't be won from the start.  
Author's Notes: None.

* * *

I know something is wrong the moment I open my eyes… or at least, when I try to open my eyes. I feel a little woozy, sluggish, and the pounding headache is not a good sign. My limbs feel heavy, as if they're weighed down; I can barely move.

Pain. I feel pain. Slow, dull, throbbing, and it's not the aforementioned headache. I try to locate the pain: my arms, cramped, raised upwards in an uncomfortable, unnatural position. I wriggle my fingers and realize my hands are tied. What is going on? Whatever ties my hands together, it's cutting into my skin, and an annoyed sound escapes me.

"Is he awake?"

 _That voice_. My headache intensifies, it's hard to think coherently. I rack my brain for memories, feverishly tracing back to whatever - or whoever - is responsible for all of this. I can't come up with a plausible explanation for my arms being tied above my head, for barely touching the ground, and hearing that voice I don't want to hear. A voice I'm not supposed to hear.

"Take your time, Pharaoh."

"Bakura," I say, my voice raspy. To my own surprise, someone (Bakura himself?) holds a glass of water to my lips and as he tilts it, I'm able to drink. I would rather not accept anything from the thief, but my body screams for hydration, and so I drink. The cold water refreshes my entire system. I attempt to open my eyes again, and this time, I succeed. This…is a strangely familiar environment. Dark, cloudy, strings of purple and dark blue, no real, solid form… this is the Shadow Realm. "Is this one of your dark RPG's?"

No answer. No more water. My mind is racing a mile a minute now. I can ignore the pain, and I focus to my surroundings. The Shadow Realm. This has to be a shadow game. But what kind? I don't see any kind of playing field. Is it a duel? No, I can't move my arms, I can't draw or play a card. But if this is truly the Shadow Realm, I can call my monsters into existence right here, I wouldn't be needing a duel disk.

"Bakura!" My voice is stronger, harsher. "Answer me!"

"I'm right here."

"What are you doing? What is going on?"

"My my, so many questions." He stands right in front of me, completely at ease, not hiding in his beloved shadows.

"Release me, thief," I hiss at him. "If this is your sick idea of a game…"

He reaches for me, his fingers on my face, and his thumb trails along my lips, still wet from the water I drank earlier. It's shocking how freely he touches me, and how… warm it feels. It's impossible, it's abnormal. I turn my head away from him.

"Tsk tsk, don't be shy."

I don't want to look at him. Now that my full conscious has returned, I wonder where Yuugi is. If I'm in the Shadow Realm, where is he? My partner, my _aibou_? Did something happen to him?

"I know what you're thinking." Bakura's voice is taunting me, the words dancing around my ears. I haven't gathered my bearings totally yet, and I feel weak and vulnerable. My worries about Yuugi and my friends increase. The thief managed to tear out their souls once already, what had he done this time? "Your precious friends are safe. Your precious vessel is safe."

"I do not believe you." I also don't believe myself. That finger on my lips, that touch… it was intimate and intimidating at the same time. What is it doing to me? "What have you done to them?"

He shrugs. He doesn't answer me. My mind takes me back to the first voice I heard, the voice I definitely heard, but… doesn't make any sense. _"Is he awake?"_

"You are not alone, are you?" Of course, the thief chooses silence, instead of answering me. I decide to look at him after all, if only to match his constant, scrutinizing glare. My arms are all but numb now, and my legs… if I stretch my toes, I can touch the ground, whatever ground it is, but just barely. My restraints aren't of the common kind, I'm afraid; this is magic at work. But if this is a game, it has to have rules. Every game has rules. There's an exit to every game, I just have to find it.

His silence drives me insane. It's not like him, to be silent. Usually, Bakura of Darkness talks about his plans, about his goals, about his hatred for me, about everything - but not silence. It starts to frighten me. There's a knot in my stomach tying itself over and over again. Something is wrong. The first voice… I'm detecting an ominous presence. The Shadow Realm isn't exclusively Bakura's turf. I dwelled here too, before Yuugi solved the Puzzle and called me back into the land of the living… sort of.

"Untie me!" I command. "Explain the rules of the game to me, or let me go!"

"You're not here to command," the first voice calls out to me, and tan, long fingers grab my chin, forcing my face upwards. "You're here to obey."

I gasp and heave, as total shock takes control of my body. Malik no yami no jinkaku is here. He is not supposed to be alive in the first place, but his fingers are digging into my skin, I can feel it, I can't pull away from the force he uses, tilting my head so I have no other choice but to look at him.

"Pretty pretty Pharaoh," he says, "do you still think this is a game?"

 _I do not know_ , I want to say, because if this is a game, it's one of the most vilest, twisted and weirdest I've ever encountered.

"Is it?"

"I do not know," I answer truthfully. What else can I say? My mind is running in circles. If he's here, where's the real Malik? Or the real Bakura, for that matter? In the Shadow Realm, our bodies are solid, physical. I turn my head away from him, but he forcefully turns it back, fingers digging into my skin harshly.

"You are hurting me..!"

"That's the point." Amused, of course. He likes to inflict pain, he likes to see others in pain. He has no connection to the darkness but the hatred and anger that gave birth to him, he's not a soul that transcended through millennia. My shadow powers should be able to overwhelm him, but I'm incapacitated and weak. My body isn't answering to me the way I want to, it reacts strongly to the touch, even if it's painful. I shiver.

"How does it feel, Pharaoh?" Bakura doesn't share Malik no yami no jinkaku's amusement, but he looks at me with… a different kind of pleasure. The pleasure of humiliating me, of course. I can't move, my body is in pain, and there's no game at stake; what am I supposed to do? To make matters worse, I have to trust his word that my friends are safe, that Yuugi is safe. The pain is bearable. Tolerable. As long as I'm the one suffering, and not my friends… but then my head is yanked upwards again, and it's painful, and I growl.

"He asked you a question," his voice so close to my ear, his breath washing over the right side of my face. I want to feel disgusted, yet I gasp uncontrollably, which amuses him even more.

"It feels unnatural," I answer. "This should not be happening. This cannot be happening."

"You have your own body now." Malik no yami no jinkaku puts his hand on my face. It's a surprisingly warm touch, considering where we are. "You should be enjoying it."

"That would require freedom of movement," I snap back, but my voice sounds strange to my own ears. I sound tired, exhausted even. My current position isn't helping matters. "You," I look at Malik of Darkness, "you are not even supposed to exist. And you," I look at Bakura, "you hatched some kind of evil scheme and…"

I cut myself off as Bakura reaches for me, and for a moment I think he's going to punch me. I close my eyes, mentally bracing myself for the hit - but it doesn't come. Instead, his fingers touch my neck, just above the choker. With a flick of his fingers, he unties it and the item falls on the ground.

"What are you doing?"

"You keep thinking this is all a game," Bakura says. He has closed the distance between us, standing so close to me that it almost scares me. "But you're already the winner. It's such a shame that you don't realize it."

"I…" I don't get it. A lot of things are a mystery to me; I don't even know my own name, and I have barely any memories. But one thing is clear to me: this shouldn't be happening. How in the world did they work together without tearing each other's throat out, how in the world have they constructed this game… or whatever it is… and catching me into their web? And to my horror, I realize that Malik of Darkness has been touching me the entire time, and I don't even turn away from him. My arm, my shoulder… despite the numbness, there's something running through my body that I can't describe. My body. As in, constructed by the Shadow Realm. I don't get it at all.

"Everything you feel here is real. Weren't you the one who always claimed that the Shadows reveal one's true feelings?"

"I…" I opened the Door of Darkness so many times. Whenever Yuugi or his friends, my friends, were in danger. I played Shadow Games with my life at stake, with the world at stake, and I didn't stop to give it a second thought. Is this some kind of punishment? What I feel, is real. I feel fear, I feel excitement. This isn't a game, and I'm already the winner? For whatever reason, they have constructed a physical body for me, only to immobilize me. What does this all mean?

He keeps touching me. Bakura dips lower with his fingers, at the hem of my shirt, tugging lightly. I try to squirm, but my body doesn't obey me. _You should be enjoying it._ Should I? I can't even feel my arms or my legs anymore. Yet I feel warmth, some kind of weird comfort, knowing that I'm not alone here. Bakura and Malik of Darkness… whatever they've done, whatever plan they thought up… I can fight them. I have powers of the shadows, I can use them as well… but just as the thought has crossed my mind, Malik grabs me and bites down on my lip, hard. The pain is shocking, sharp and bitter and angry at the same time, something I have never felt before.

"Let go of me!" I yell and a spatter of blood ends up on Bakura's cheek. Enthralled, Malik turns towards him, immediately licking it off. Why is the thief even allowing him to do that?

"Pretty Pharaoh is hurt," Malik mocks me, "look at all that blood! His perfection is tainted now, what a shame!"

"Monster," is my intelligent answer. Bakura grins at me. Then he pushes at Malik and turns towards me again. He reaches for me, but not for my face; higher, he makes the restraints around my wrists disappear. The entire strain on my body dissolves and I slump forward, straight into his arms. I think I hear Malik snort, but his reaction doesn't interest me. I try, with the last of my strength, to push myself away from Bakura, but to no avail. He lays me down on the floor, or whatever the 'ground' or 'floor' is in the Shadow Realm, his movement… tender..? He could've dropped me and just leave me here.

My arms start tingling right away, as the blood circulation resumes again. Bakura has his fingers on my right arm, and he makes these circular motions.

"What are you doing…?"

No answer. I shiver and I shudder at the same time. In the eerie silence, Malik of Darkness sits down on my other side and takes my left arm, mimicking Bakura's movements. I.. have no idea why they're doing this. I have no idea what has happened. My headache is mostly gone, fortunately, but I can't remember how I lost consciousness in the first place, how they transported me to the Shadow Realm, how they're blocking my own powers… and they keep touching me, hands everywhere, and not on my arms anymore. Bakura has moved up my shirt, exposing my stomach. I want to scream at him, at the top of my lungs, to keep his hands off of me…

… but I haven't been touched in millennia, and this… this is different. It's darkness, but it's not cold. It's strangely caring, yet distant. It's hurting, it's painful, yet comforting. My strength is returning, but I don't act upon it. Malik's harsh, pressing fingers don't bother me anymore. My vision is blurred as my shirt is pulled over my head, and Bakura discards the garment carelessly. I still want to ask 'Why?' but when I part my lips, the thief leans into me and kisses me. Roughly, and he's brutal enough to tug at the bite wound, but this time the pain isn't as intense as before. Bakura interrupts the kiss to look at Malik of Darkness, who simply shows his usual, deranged grin.

"I told you he'd get used to it quickly," he says in a triumphant manner.

Yuugi… aibou… forgive me, Gods forgive me, may I forgive myself… but I can't get away. I won't get away. Not from them. Not now. Maybe not ever. I can't move, I can't breathe, I can't live… without them. Darkness before me, Darkness behind me, Darkness next to me, Darkness everywhere and I surrender. I am a creature of Darkness, just like them. I have done things I have to atone for, I have been wandering these shadows for ages, this is my home. This is where I belong. With renewed strength, I move my arms, my hands reaching for the both of them. Bakura leads my hand to his chest, and I grab a fistful of his shirt. No Ring. No Puzzle. No Rod. It's just the three of us. Malik takes my hand and squeezes it, I'm not surprised by his strength.

I already lost my name, my soul and my body. In the shadows, I am the winner.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: As Shadows Tend to Run  
Theme number and theme: #100, Kiss  
Genre: supernatural, slight violence  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): a very little bit of blood  
Character or pairing: Psychoshipping (Yami no Malik x Yami no Bakura)  
Short summary: Searching out the Darkness can even surprise the Darkness.

* * *

"Your Darkness is impressive," I say. Of course, I don't show any exterior signs of how impressed I really am; I know the likes of Malik no yami no jinkaku. He's not a 'real' Darkness anyway, but he shows the signs of a dark being: hatred and anger, pure and raw.

"Why, thank you." Of course, he doesn't mean it. He doesn't even bother to hide his disdain, and he doesn't even bother being sarcastic, as if it takes him too much effort.

Silence. It's not like we're good friends, or acquaintances even. I haven't seen Malik Ishtar's darker side since I dueled him on top of that weird blimp thing, when I lost to his scrawny ass, together with the pathetic remains of the original Malik. Heh. I wonder what he's up to, since he's been redeemed by the man he was supposed to hate the most.

"I should've known that I'd run into you, sooner or later," I speak up. I don't want to admit that he's magnificent, the way he stands, empowered by the Darkness around him, full with delicious hate and blackness. His hatred pales in comparison to mine of course, but I'm fairly sure he doesn't give a shit about comparing. He doesn't care about anything.

"What is it you want, Bakura?" he asks. "Do you finally regret working together with my shujinkaku-sama? Such a waste. You should've teamed up with me. Together, we could've plunged the world in total devastation and despair." He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"I don't care for 'total devastation and despair'. Talking to you is a waste of time."

"Fine, leave then."

"You leave."

He chuckles. "Aren't you a little too old for this childish game?"

"The Darkness is mine," I snap at him. "You have no reason being here. You were supposed to be totally banished. I guess the Pharaoh wasn't strong enough to totally obliterate you. Interesting. Or perhaps he was lenient, or merciful, to ban you instead of annihilate you."

"I don't need his mercy," he snaps back, and I can see his knuckles turn white, from clenching his fists. He's rather composed, maybe the Darkness has tamed him a little. I'm pleased with the reaction nonetheless. "How is our exalted King anyway?"

A question deserves an answer. "He's on his way to Egypt. He has gained all three God Cards, and he's going to present them to the Ceremonial Tablet."

A grin, a delighted, bloodlust-like grin. His curiosity is piqued. "What do you have in store for him?"

"Nothing but the greatest, darkest RPG of all times." I am proud of my plan, and confident of my success. I don't mind telling him, this creature, this dark being that was created from pain and hatred, created to hate one man and one man only? Does he even know how much he resembles his hated Pharaoh with that powerful stance, that tilt of his head, his chin forward and that luscious hair of his, framing his tan face with those crazy yet fascinating pupil-less, dark-lashed eyes? "I have prepared for this since millennia. It's the ultimate of RPG's, taking him back to his country, to his nation, only to relive his defeat and his death again."

"That sounds awfully nice." His grin becomes deranged. I can imagine how he's imagining it all, since he failed to destroy the Pharaoh himself. I allow myself a moment of thought, joining his silence. I can't for the moment when I see the look on the Pharaoh's face, when his entire nation crumbles around him, how his own life is ended and how the light will die out in those fascinating crimson-red eyes. Oh, but I sincerely enjoyed dueling him, even though I hate him. I'll admit he was the better duelist, God Card or no God Card. The moment he summoned Osiris… he was destined to have the God Cards, but I'm not interested in them. Thinking back of the duel, I feel my Darkness grow, my mind and soul refilled with hatred and anger again.

Malik no yami no jinkaku looks smug. I'm not sure if I've read him well. I didn't search him out to taunt him. I didn't mean to tell him about my plan. And why am I closing the distance between us, and why isn't he backing away from me?

"He's going to die," I say, "and I will hold his decayed body, and I'll watch it turn into dust before I unleash Zorc onto the world!"

"Plunging it into Darkness," he licks his lips.

"Plunging it into Darkness," I repeat. Now he suddenly takes a step back, but I grab his upper left arm. His body is solid in this Realm, whereas he's nothing but a figment of someone's imagination, purely surviving on his hatred and anger. I press my fingernails into his skin. He doesn't flinch, just curiously looks at the few drops of blood I manage to draw. He doesn't pull away. With his head turned like that, strands of his striking blond hair, such a contrast with his tan skin, shift along with the movement. My other hand touches it, even if I don't know why.

"I wish I could be there," he murmurs.

"Why?"

"To see your total and utter victory," he says. For all that he is, he's not a liar. On the contrary, he has always been straight forward - in the duel, in his goals. He believes me, but he also knows that the Pharaoh will win, of course. He always wins, as much as I hate to admit it. I don't _want_ to admit it. This time, I'll be the victor, just as he believes me to be one. "To see the world be plunged into Darkness."

"I will find out his name," I whisper. My breathing has changed, my voice becoming a little raspy. "And when I know his name, I'll whisper it onto his dying lips, and I'll close his eyes with a kiss, killing his entire soul for all eternity."

Maybe I'm kissing the Pharaoh already in my thoughts, but I don't care. Our lips clash together, snarling, biting, tugging. Malik no yami no jinkaku has the smell of Darkness all over him, his stay in the Shadows consuming his mind and his soul. It's exciting and devastating at the same time. Did I truly choose the wrong Malik to cooperate with? No, back at that time, I didn't have any other choice. It wasn't that much of my choice; I was promised the Sennen Rod, and I wanted my Items back in my hands again.

I grab a fistful of his dark shirt, yank it at to pull him closer. I sink my teeth into his tongue, but no scream or cry follows. The prongs of my Ring are stabbing him in the chest, I realize; five sharp points, usually embedded in my skin, now firmly piercing his. I pull up the hem of his shirt and true enough, blood trickles over his skin. He laughs, right into the kiss. I should've known, of course. He's used to pain, he thrives on pain. In my moment of superiority, I was only thinking of his anger, but not of his pain. Our lips are still locked and I can't pull away, not that I want to. It only takes one thought to end this all, but I only just got started. I want to destroy before I create, I want to destroy after I create. The ultimate Dark RPG is about to start, and I don't know why I even sought out my former enemy. It doesn't matter. I'm excited and I tug and pull at him harder, tightening my grip. The Darkness intensifies, the Shadows creating Shadows, pulling closer and enveloping us. The black room took us like a cave, condensing, compiling all the hatred and anger and fury and pressing it onto us, into us, and finally the screaming started - whoever it was, whoever was destroyed first.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Cardinal Sin  
Theme number and theme: #18, Innocence  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): none

Character or pairing: Psychoshipping (Yami no Malik x Yami no Bakura)  
Short summary: An innocent question can set an entire chain of reactions off.

* * *

"Do you believe in innocence?"

His question surprises me. He's been quiet as usual, because Malik Ishtar's dark half only speaks when he wants something to say, not to fill the silence. The silence I appreciate. It's not like him to be this considerate, he can be a real pest if he wants to. The unpredictability of our… 'relationship' is what would kill others, but it makes me feel comfortable, for some reason. I tilt my head.

"What makes you wonder that?"

He hates it when I question his question, and I can see those strange, mesmerizing pupil-less eyes frown. I never tell him how beautiful he really is, with that dark tan, that contrasting gold, cool and luxurious resting so close against his flawless skin… well, except for his back. He parts his lips again, and I expect a flow of expletives, as there's very little subtlety in his choice of words. But he surprises me again.

"Well, do you?"

It makes me wonder why he asks this. He never shows interest in another person's feelings, emotions or thoughts - why would he, as he's born from complete hatred and darkness?

"No, I don't." I'm not in the mood for games, not in the mood to bait him. He seems to be satisfied with my answer and goes about his business, which is flipping through some kind of magazine, that Malik himself has probably given him. I'm not sure how their light and dark goes together, it's certainly a very different dynamic from me and my own 'light'… as if Bakura Ryou is such a light, such innocence in itself. Hell no.

My own innocence came to a halt when I saw my entire village murdered. Slaughtered and processed into golden Items. Yes, I'm aware of the irony of wearing one of those golden Items as I speak. It's a constant reminder of how many lives were lost, of how cruel people can be, and in my own darkest hours I'll still hear the screams, those agonizing screams when naked flesh was burned and ground. What kind of innocence was there left? Was there any innocence to begin with? I look to my right, at Malik's dark half who's content to call himself Malik as well, calling himself the 'real' Malik, who has rolled onto his side, his back turned to me, lazily leafing through the magazine. I grab the hem of his shirt and yank it up.

"How do you call this? _Your_ belief in innocence?" I snap at him, with more vehemence than I actually intended. He usually revels in pissing me off, but as he looks over his shoulder, I see genuine confusion on his face.

"What? No, of course not. What's gotten into you?"

"It's your stupid fucking question, that's it."

He shrugs. "You didn't need to answer it."

I press my hand against the scarred skin. Generations of Ishtars have suffered this ritual, of carrying the Pharaoh's memories on their backs, carved into them with a hot blade. I can't imagine the pain that had to go with it; it's not like it's just one carving, it's his entire back, top to bottom, hieroglyphs and images and all. I can understand the pain and rage Malik went through, and why he developed another personality, just to deal with this alone. Another personality in existence, who has become a plague to his family, reminding him everyday of what he lost and how much he suffered.

"I don't mind it," he says.

"Of course not, you were created because of this." I press a little harder, even if I don't know why. I can't hurt him. I can beat the hell out of him, and he'll just laugh at me and ask for more, if he doesn't unleash his own rage. And he's fucking strong to boot, so I rather not provoke him. I prefer the silence and the shadows, not the screams and the suffering. "But how about your shujinkaku-sama?"

"Malik? Oh, of course his innocence was killed that day," he says matter-of-factly. "The moment his father put that knife into his skin, everything was killed. His compassion, his empathy, his love… everything. It was delicious."

"Asshole," I say. He chuckles.

"You're the one to talk. You killed your own innocence, Bakura."

That's the third time that he surprises me, and now I get pissed. "What's with the mystery talk? Say what you want to say!"

"Your yadonushi-sama." He tosses the magazine to the floor and all but shirks against my hand. "Poor little Bakura Ryou."

"Do you think I corrupted him?" I bark a short laugh.

"Well, you never did leave him alone, did you?"

I hit him against his back, as if I can split open those old scars, break his skin and draw out blood. It's fruitless of course, he doesn't even hiss or moan. "It's not my fault that the Ring ended up in his hands."

"Come on." He looks over his shoulder again, a grin tugging at his lips. "It's not like you to wallow in this kind of 'innocence', Bakura. Or do you believe it was fate?"

"What's your problem?" I say, keeping my voice under control, albeit it takes me some effort. "And stop shrugging."

"You're the one reacting like this," he says. "I don't know. I don't know how my mind works. I only forget."

"Then forget about this," I tell him and pull his shirt back down. Not that I mind the view, but the scars are upsetting me. They remind me of a time, of another thief, who once was a kid and who once watched his entire family getting killed. I touch my cheek, but _my_ scar isn't there. It's only on my soul, where no one can see it or question it. Not even the dark half who knows nothing but pain and hatred.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Mind thievery  
Theme number and theme: #57, Memories  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): none

Character or pairing: Darkshipping (Yami no Yuugi x Yami no Bakura)  
Short summary: Knowledge is power.

* * *

"It's really sad, poor, poor Pharaoh," I say.

"Shut up," he answers, voice muffled. He likes to lie on his stomach for some reason, propping the pillow under his head, tucking his hands underneath. I can't imagine any Pharaoh sleeping like that, but well, this is another time, another era. "As if 'Bakura' is _your_ name."

"It is," I protest. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

He moves a little as if he wants to shrug, but he's lying so comfortably that it's a half-assed attempt, and just a few muscles ripple, his skin tightening. That lovely, beautiful flawless skin, that I touched just seconds ago. He smacks his lips, those pretty, small lips that are so sweet and tender to kiss. It's because of Yuugi, he claims, who uses chapstick all the time in these chilly days of approaching winter. The low temperature outside are the reason why it's so warm in the room; the mighty Pharaoh dislikes being cold.

"I wonder what your name is," I say.

"So do I."

"You'll have to find out, one day."

"I _will_ find out."

I know he will. He has to, for the sake of my own plans. Without his name, I can forget about the whole set-up of my ultimate Dark RPG. But he has his minions, who are laughably devoted to him, like a flock of mindless drones following their 'leader'. If only they knew.

"Tired?" I ask. He opens one eye, to give me a curious look.

"You usually do not stay."

"Because you don't want me to."

"I do not want them to hear us." Now he lifts his head up from the pillow and yawns very much unlike a dignified Pharaoh. "I do not want them to find out about us."

"I'm your dirty little secret." I nod. It doesn't matter. I'm his, he's mine. We don't even remember when it started, but we know we're not about to stop. I look past his bare shoulders, spotting the Sennen Puzzle on the desk. I've made it quite clear that I'm not interested in the artifact; it doesn't play a part yet, not yet. The Pharaoh made it through Battle City; the next step is for him to go to the National Museum to present the God Cards to the Ceremonial Tablet. That will effectively mean the end of our… 'relationship', but I don't think he realizes it. This is all new to him, he doesn't remember.

And unlike him, I have my memories. I know them all too well. In preparation for my Dark RPG, I had to relive through it all again, and it was horrifying. It's a fate I wish upon no one, except for my enemy… who is lying right next to me, asleep. Yuugi is going to be surprised to wake up without his star-splattered pajamas, that's for sure. I'm very sorely tempted to just stay until the moment that Yuugi actually wakes up; the look on his face should be priceless. At least Yuugi is innocent, I don't have any qualms with him; but for now, the Pharaoh's vessel should stay innocent. I need him later, to do my work - and I don't have any qualms using him either.

He's going to experience his memories again, even if he doesn't know it yet. Just look at him, ignorance is bliss. He's handsome, he's sexy, he's an arrogant son of a bitch. He really thinks he can get away with it, because he's the Pharaoh. He basks in the unlimited faith and trust his 'friends' have in him, thinking it gives him a free card to do whatever he wants. Well, his luck with games is about to run out.

"I know everything about you," I say, knowing he doesn't hear me. Ignorance is bliss, sleep is for those who don't know. Or don't care, perhaps. "Everything but your name. But I'll know soon enough, and then you'll remember what it's like to lose everything you hold dear. Because you're going to die again, and again, and again, until you learn."

With that said, I lean into him to kiss him on the forehead. He mumbles something inaudible, and for a moment I think he has overheard me - but he remains lying still, and doesn't wake up. I roll out of the bed, careful to not hit my head on the low ceiling. The attic room is quite spacious, and shows every sign of its inhabitant, a young boy. Not a boy-king, but a real, High School kid, who had the fortune to solve the Sennen Puzzle. He inherited the power of the Dark Games… and he also inherited himself a powerful enemy. My Darkness is strong enough to support the RPG I'm preparing, and I'll be ready for him. My memories serve me right, up until the end. The final end.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Patience and the Shadows  
Theme number and theme: #26, Someday  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): none  
Character or pairing: Yami no Bakura & Yami no Malik  
Short summary: How often can you tell yourself that something will work out?

* * *

"Someday _I_ will win," I whisper into his ear. He nods and grins. I never thought it was so easy to satisfy Malik Isthar, but then again, he's pretty much the same as the 'real' Malik Ishtar - the one who agreed to work together with me back during the Battle City Tournament. That's all over now, and this Malik, or Marik as I call him, just to avoid confusion, ended up in the Shadow Realm, as he lost to our goody-two-shoes Pharaoh.

"I hate him," Marik says. Now I'm the one to nod. It's the intro to another litany about anger and pain and hatred and I gave up listening a long time ago. I do like the sound of his voice though, calm and low, until he really gets into his anger and he increases his volume. I don't mind. Someday, his voice will stop, someday he'll stop existing, and someday I won't be around either - but not before I have witnessed the Pharaoh fail and crumble at my feet.

"I know," I say and I suddenly realized that he has stopped talking. "What's the matter?"

"What if you won't win?"

"Preposterous," I protest. "I've been crafting the ultimate Dark RPG for ages! Nothing can go wrong!"

I look at him. Is he mocking me? Is he trying to push my buttons? I don't know. I don't know him that well. I only know him as an adversary, and then I lost my Ring to him, and the thought that he has worn it around his neck for a while… it makes me sick. But not sick enough to sever all contact. Not sick enough to stop looking for him in the Shadow Realm, where I feel at home.

"He has all three Gods."

"Of course he has them," I say, and I don't recognize the relief going through me. I don't need Marik's approval of my plans, do I? "I foresaw that. In fact, I took it into account. He _needs_ the Gods to present their cards to the Ceremonial Tablet, otherwise I can't put my RPG in motion."

It suddenly dawns to me. Of course, he has forgotten. He forgets everything, he says so himself.

"He has his friends."

"They won't be able to follow him where he's going," I snort. Yuugi and his precious friends are not a part of my upcoming game. And even if they should find a way in, I have my own way of dealing with them. I've had so much time to plan it all, mapping out every possibility; setbacks and victories. "No, this time the Pharaoh is traveling alone."

"Alone," Marik repeats, looking happy. He doesn't care for anyone in particular, he forgets and he loves being alone in the darkness. The Shadow Realm is a perfect place for him; a place of nothingness, an empty void, a lifeless being. "Does he end up here when he dies?"

That's a question I need to ponder. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with him once my victory has been secured. Someday. Do I enslave him? Keep him as some kind of pet? Humiliate him? What would it be like to have a Pharaoh as your personal servant? Degrading, oh yes, I would degrade him, take his precious pride away, and parade him in front of his friends as my slave, and he gets to watch while I kill them, rendering him into nothing but a crying, weak, defeated, pathetic _human_.

"Would you like me to send him to you?" I sound almost gleefully. Sure, why not - if Marik wants to play with my pet, who am I to deny him this small pleasure? Just the thought of the Pharaoh being on the losing end for once makes me so happy that I don't even mind sharing. But then, a small voice in the back of my mind tells me that this is still _Marik._ The one who didn't hesitate to sacrifice his own 'light' half, the one who created him in the first place? He would break and destroy my perfect small pet, rendering him useless to me. I can't let that happen, but it's too late to retract my words.

"That would be wonderful," he answers, a familiar glint in his eye. It makes me feel slightly nervous. Why have I come here? Why did I bother finding him in the shadows? Because I was in need of reassurance? Because I know that someday might not be for a long time to come? Just look at him, how satisfied he is with the promise I just made, and how enthralled he is at the simple thought of having the Pharaoh handed over to him, so he can play with him to the point of no return. I want to unleash my anger, I want to attack him - but I know this is the Shadow Realm, and physical attacks don't work here. I should retreat and calm myself down, and continue with my preparations.

"One day," I say, not liking the insecure sound of my own voice. Marik doesn't pick up on the tone, or doesn't care; he looks at me while he licks his lips.

"Someday," he says, "I won't forget, Bakura."


	6. Chapter 6

Title: A good Day then  
Theme number and theme: #12, Tomorrow  
Genre: general  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): a little violence.

Character or pairing: Darkshipping (Yami no Yuugi x Yami no Bakura)  
Short summary: Any day is a good day to spend with your enemy.

* * *

"Tomorrow," I say. No reaction. He just keeps looking at me with those mesmerizing, half-lidded, reddish eyes. "Starting tomorrow, things will be different."

"How so?" His voice is low, filled with his usual arrogance. I reach for the golden bangs clinging to his cheek, and brush them away, gentler than I intended. He doesn't move.

"Battle City will commence. You heard and saw Kaiba's announcement."

"I sure did." Now he shifts his position a little. I try to remember how _lazy_ he looks, with that… satisfied smirk on his face, those eyes that gaze at me, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. I want to remember it, because it'll be a stark contrast to the inevitable moment that he'll lose the ultimate game, and he'll realize that he's got nothing left but his own darkness and hatred, buried deep inside him. I want to see his expression the moment he realizes his loss; but for now, I need him to win. "I just wonder…"

He looks in the direction of the desk, propped up against the wall. The Puzzle lies on top, next to a deck of cards. My deck is next to his; it was a flimsy excuse to get both our vessels together: to discuss game strategies and the strength of our decks. My landlord thinks entering the tournament is a nice thing, because he likes to play Duel Monsters. A 'nice thing'. It gets me laughing every time, and I do appreciate the irony that I, a thief and a stealer of souls, have ended up in the body of one of the most polite, shy, well-mannered people ever.

"You just wonder what?" I trace his face with my fingers, slowly. I made my intentions quite clear during Duelist Kingdom, and I was genuinely surprised when he reciprocated. As in, allowing me to touch him, to kiss him, and to talk to him. Why would be that so strange? After all, he's attracted to Darkness, the same Darkness within him.

"I just wonder what the future holds." He tilts his head a little, as if leaning more into my touch, but his eyes are gazing at me. It's safe to say of course, that I haven't been all that friendly to him. Some physical pleasantries don't make up for millennia of hatred. "I want to regain my memories. I want to know who I am."

"All good reasons," I murmur. My fingers go past his jaw line, so much sharper than his vessel's. Mutou Yuugi is just as my landlord, a goody-two-shoe, and he'll be consumed by his inner Darkness if he doesn't grow a spine. This Battle City is going to bring out our strengths and our flaws.

"And I wonder…" he drawls just a little, shivering from my touch as my nails scrape over his skin, not drawing blood but slightly painful nonetheless, "…what your reasons are."

Now I tilt my head and he grabs a fistful of my hair, tugging. I grunt, and my hand goes to his neck. He gasps as I immediately apply pressure, my fingers bruising his skin.

"Like I said, starting tomorrow, things will be different. I'll be your enemy. I'll be fighting _you_ , and I'll show no mercy." My body is actually just as weak as his, but I have the power of surprise. He yanks harder at my hair and I hiss. I don't care if he pulls out the strands, _I_ am still on top, literally. I'm the superior one. He can be a King a thousand times over, but he's not above me. I push harder. He starts to panic, I can see it in his eyes. The lazy pleasure is gone, and angry confusion and fear has taken its place. He doesn't know what's happening to him as I cut off his air. We played around like this before, but this… is also different. I have no qualms. I should stop, but I can't. He must suffer, and choking him to death is… not suffering enough. My fingers tighten, I can see his skin turn dark from the bruises I'm inflicting.

I don't care. It's like I'm on an exalted power trip, and I'm winning. I'm screaming at myself to stop, this isn't what I wanted, this isn't what I _planned_ , and the pain I feel as he's trying to free himself, his nails trailing blood all over my arm is nothing compared to the adrenaline rush of impending victory. The room darkens and my head starts to spin. The Darkness, ever so patient, is closing itself around us with a loving gesture; Mother calling her Sons home. Shadows cradling me, the familiar chilly sensation, and I can't let go, and I won't let go…

Maybe I realize it after all, or maybe the shadows remind him of his own powers. The Eye appears on his forehead and it shines so brightly that I flinch and the Darkness recoils. I release my grip, just for a second, but that's all the time he needs. In the next second, I'm thrown off of the bed and land unceremoniously on the floor, rolling and banging into the wall from the sheer force of impact. I moan.

"Get the hell out, Bakura." It's a slight satisfaction to hear his voice raspy and hoarse. I grin, despite the effort it costs me to pick myself up from the floor. I search for my clothes and dress myself. I'm not sure what had gotten into me. Was I trying to sabotage myself? Why couldn't I hold myself back? I don't know, and it doesn't make much difference. I'm finished with my shoes, and I turn around. He's sitting on the bed, perfectly dressed albeit still lacking his shoes, fastening that dog collar he's so fond of wearing. It covers up nicely the marks I have left, and I can't help but ask: "So, how are you going to explain this to your little friend?"

He narrows his eyes. "Get out," is all he says. I shrug. I pick up my deck from the desk; it's actually the occult themed deck of my landlord, one that suits me just fine. I wonder how far it'll take me. I leave the room without another word. Tomorrow is an important day.

* * *

 _Things are different._ My own voice echoes in my mind. I'd been calling _him_ arrogant, but now I realize I had spoken too soon. I made myself known as his enemy, convinced as I was, that I would come out on top again. My patience, my beautiful eternal patience, had forsaken me and I had crushed my own plans as soon as I put my hand on his neck. Tomorrow. I've lost, I'm depleted, and I'm facing a monster that I can't defeat. Not even working together with Malik Ishtar has brought me victory; in fact, I have set myself considerably back. What have I done? Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut? I can see him standing on the other side of the dueling field, completely in control, knowing very well that he's going to win. I want to laugh and cry at the same time, all in frustration. The irony that after all my hard work, I lose in the first round of the tournament without as much as a chance of collecting another Sennen Item. I never told him my reasons for entering Battle City. Maybe he'll figure it out, or maybe he doesn't care. All that I can see is his triumphant smirk, and then his lips move. I don't need to hear him. I know what he's saying. _Tomorrow._ I open my arms wide and I laugh. Osiris roars and I brace myself for the oncoming pain. I stare into the bright light of the God's attack that will spiral me back in to shadows and Darkness again. I'll admit my defeat today. Tomorrow, things will be different.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: The Bare Lines  
Theme number and theme: #97, Naked  
Genre: general  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none

Character or pairing: Yami no Bakura & Yami no Yuugi  
Short summary: Every relationship has its dynamics.

* * *

"I could kill you, you know." I breathe against his skin. Flawless, ethereal skin. Bare skin.

"I know," he answers. He sounds amused, and I know why. "You say that every time."

I whisper the words along, breathing against his skin anew. He doesn't shiver; the temperature is cozy and warm. We both hate the cold.

My fingers trace his spine and dart over his shoulder blades. I lean into him and press my lips on his perfect canvas. Gently, almost caring. I don't bite and tear like that idiot. Malik no yami no jinkaku can keep his blood, gore and guts; I prefer smoothness, calmness, even. Judging from the fairly cool, yet pristine surface, I notice that Malik's darker half hasn't been close to the Pharaoh for at least months. I can't help but grin. He's going to be so frustrated when he hears about my latest visit.

I'm not naked. I peeled him out of his clothes like I usually do; starting with that delightfully tight shirt of his. I love how it hugs his skin and how the fabric ripples and crinkles as I lift it up, revealing the perfect beauty underneath. Of course I can't pull it over his head as he's wearing that goddamn Puzzle, and he won't allow me to take it off. So we fight a little, a slight struggle while we kiss, and we push and we pull. It's the only 'game' the Pharaoh loses, and he'll remove the Puzzle for me; no one else touches the Item. It's almost endearing how he puts it to the side, cupping it as if it's a real, living thing.

He did the same to me; lifting up the shirt, that is. I discarded the garment and stopped him in his tracks. It's a bit of a ritual, he already knows; I take my time undressing him. I'm a very patient man. I expected at first that he would yell at me, to hurry up, but he never did. Maybe it's because it's the only time we get to ourselves. Despite being in charge of the body, it's not ours. We have obligations. I respect my landlord, believe it or not. It won't benefit me at all if I abuse or neglect him. The same goes for the Pharaoh; he's like a hawk watching over his 'aibou', and whichever deity may have mercy on your soul if you fuck him over.

I like that. His dark side, I mean. Literally. I like to antagonize him, no matter the consequences. I want to see his red eyes burn, I want his lips snarling, and I want his hands to push at me; I want him to push me away and to pull me back at the same time. His body against mine, his hands all over me, his breath tickling my skin. Sometimes he even says things, meaningless things, hopeless things, and I drink it all in as if there's no tomorrow. Maybe there isn't. Our time is limited, and we both know it.

I want so many things and I want it again and again. Lately I realized that I want it again and again with him by my side. It's impossible, it has never been possible, and it'll always be impossible; I live to destroy him, and he lives to gain victory. It's such a stark contrast, that it fascinates and scares me. Here I am, with my archrival, my nemesis, yet he's my Achilles heel, my weakness, my one great flaw. I don't even know why. All that I know is that I could kill him, right here and right now with my bare hands… the same hands that are stroking his sides, tracing every curve of his body.

"What are you thinking?" His voice is soft, yet demanding. Is this the limit of his patience? I don't think so. It's not like we're strangers to one another, like this. I move my hands up, my fingers curl around his neck.

"I'm thinking about what's to come," I answer.

He narrows his eyes, slightly. Long dark lashes, contrasting starkly with his pale skin. "What do you have in mind?" Funny, how many people equal nudity with vulnerability. I envy him, 'my' Pharaoh, for showing such comfort and ease with being naked, no protection from armor or clothes, and no shred of insecurity. He draws strength of having the upper hand; I'm still dressed, not prepared to expose myself yet. I lose. "Another one of your RPG's?"

"Monster world was great fun," I tell him. I have confidence of my own, clothes or no clothes. "I'm sure you're going to like this one. It's going to bring back a lot of memories."

I might be mistaken, but there's a slight bit of tension that seems to flow away. We're both not completely relaxed in each other's presence, but still… after so many times, we should know better by now.

"I like RPG's," he says and shifts a little, moving his arm. I lean into him again, pressing a kiss against his temple.

"You don't have to be afraid," I say and I'm rewarded with a loud, Kaiba-esque snort. My fingers are still on his neck. What if I would apply pressure, digging my fingers into his skin, and push so hard that I'd choke the life out of him? No. That would be too easy. I still want him to suffer, I still want him to go through pain and anguish. Yet I can't stand the thought of someone else's fingers on his body, yet I can't bear the notion that someone else kisses those lips and elicit those hungry, needy moans out of him.

"I am not."

"Just because you were the victor last time…" He turns his head at hearing my menacing growl, but all he does is to smirk at me. It annoys me for the briefest of moments and then I move my hand up, sliding past his cheek, to his hair. That's always good for a content look on his face. He likes his hair to be played with, and I'm happy to oblige. He brings up his hand, mimicking my gesture; I feel his fingers slide down my neck, twirling strands of hair around them.

"I will always be the victor." His other hand is on the waistband of my pants. My my, he's getting impatient after all.

"Not for now," I answer. I nip at his earlobe and allow the excitement to wash over me. Tilting my head, I go lower, trailing along his jaw line. A content moan follows; it's the same routine we take, the same path we walk on with a little banter back and forth, while we touch and kiss. I don't remember anymore how it exactly started. I searched him out and we yelled at each other, until we literally tore each other's clothes off.

"Not for now," he repeats, but there's no submission in his voice. That's not what I'd like to hear, either. I want him feisty, I want him fighting, I want him to cling to me and cry out my name. Those are the bare lines of our relationship. He's not the only one whose breathing grows erratic. I press against his skin, no more barriers, no more holding back. I want my access, and I want it now. This is my win. This is my victory.


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Only one time to actually be sorry  
Theme number and theme: #61, "I'm sorry"  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): implied violent sexual situations

Character or pairing: Yami no Bakura x Yami no Malik x Yami no Yuugi  
Short summary: Even the Darkness uses any remorse against you.

* * *

I don't know why he allows this. I shouldn't care of course, because he means nothing to me. He _should_ mean nothing to me. He's just a pawn in my game; the most important pawn I admit, but a pawn nonetheless. I tilt my head and watch him from a small distance. I'm already done, so why should I bother paying attention to him? Yet it fascinates me, _he_ fascinates me, it's intriguing and I can't get it out of my head.

He's on the bed, on his stomach, legs spread. His eyes are closed; I'm not sure if he's still reveling in the aftereffects of our… physical activities or if he's silently recovering from the pain. I'm not a very tender lover. I hate the word 'lover'. It implies the emotion of love, and I certainly don't feel any love towards the Pharaoh. I hate him, but not his body.

I'm not touching him at the moment. He shivers briefly as slender, tan fingers caress his legs, drawing out the touch until it drives him insane. I settle on the bed, content to watch, and to catch my breath. I like the intensity of sex. It's mind-blowing how intense and how wonderful it can be and what it does to your body; the race towards the climax and the release, deriving pleasure so great that you lose control. That moment of total surrender, those seconds of total euphoria - it's amazing what your body is capable of, and how good it feels.

I don't care that he's my enemy. I don't care what I call him, or what I should call him. He means nothing to me but pleasure, and he yet has to provide my greatest pleasure: when he's trapped in my ultimate dark RPG and I can watch him running around, not knowing what to do, totally lost. He's not aware of my plans and right now he's not aware of much else but the hands on his body.

Malik no yami no jinkaku simply joined us one day, he never asked or was invited. I have never touched him, he disgusts me; but I like to watch what he does to the Pharaoh. He likes to be second, the thought of the Pharaoh being 'used', turning him on. Dark Malik is far from gentle; he's violent and vicious and crude. The screams roll over me, slide past me, and I watch intently, not missing a second or a heated heartbeat.

There's always one inevitable moment. He'll turn his head and smile at me as he reaches for my hand. I accept his offer and hold his hand while Dark Malik continues to ravage him; it's amazing how his smaller body can take the abuse and how he seems to enjoy it. Why else would he be smiling at me?

I've always been told that the Pharaoh was a son of the Gods, powerful, wise and strong, but I don't think it's true. I'll acknowledge his skill as a duelist, but I don't see much greatness or power in him when he begs for more, writhing and squirming, taking what he can get from me or Dark Malik. Begging is a sign of weakness, not of strength. It doesn't matter much, though; he can beg anytime, for his release, for his life to end, and I'll gladly give it to him. I continue to watch, not specifically for physical pleasure, but for… entertainment purposes. To see someone reduced to a sobbing mess when the pain gets too much, yet doesn't tell the other to stop because the pleasure is too great. To see someone I hate get beaten and abused and still allowing it, taking it in stride, perhaps. It's his choice, no one has forced or manipulated him into doing this.

It's over. Dark Malik's done, and he passionately kisses the Pharaoh, which means he bites down his neck like a mother cat would drag her young. I hear the skin break, I see the blood well up and trickling down, creating a small stain on the bed sheets. It's exciting and disturbing at the same time. The Pharaoh heaves a long, drawn-out sigh. I'm still holding his hand, and his grip relaxes. Now comes the next part, which he enjoys far more, or so I think. I look into his eyes while Dark Malik moves away from him and leaves the bed. I'm not really sure what I'm seeing; there's no disdain, arrogance or loathing, nor is there any love, attention or care. I don't get it.

Dark Malik returns with a bowl of lukewarm water and a towel. He takes great pleasure in cleaning the Pharaoh up, dabbing with the plush cotton all over him, wiping away all the bodily fluids. I have to say, he's very careful when he does this; with the inevitable tongue out of his mouth, not because he's ecstatic, but because he's paying the utmost attention to 'his' Pharaoh. I don't understand him at all, let alone the whole Ishtar tribe, but he told me once he wanted to keep the Pharaoh in 'good condition' so he could use him again and again. I don't think it works that way. I don't think the Pharaoh works that way, but it's not like I can… just ask him. We don't have that kind of relationship. I hear him softly moan as Dark Malik rubs over a tender spot, yet his facial expression is one of delight. Isn't this attention much better than all the pain and the violence? I'm frustrated, as I want to understand… but something deep inside me tells me I won't get an answer. This is Darkness, and we're all Dark. Why should I even try to understand the Shadows? This man ruined my life, as I'm trying to ruin his. In the moment that Dark Malik has left again to get rid of the dirty water, I say the words I'd never thought would leave my lips.

"I'm sorry."

"I am not," he answers me.

He looks human. He bleeds. He coughs. He smiles. A son of the Gods, used and wiped clean, as if nothing has happened. I wonder why I can't let go. Where's his strength? His dignity? His standing? Did he drown it out in all his screaming and yelling? He offers me nothing but entertainment, he's mine to do as he pleases. A powerful Pharaoh, and I can reduce him to a begging heap just by looking at him. But like I said before, the Pharaoh doesn't work that way.

Dark Malik is the first to go. One day, I don't sense his presence in the Shadows anymore, and I can't find him. By then, I haven't seen the Pharaoh for a while either; he's not waiting for me, he's no longer available. It adds to my frustration, yet I realize it was inevitable; sooner or later, everything would've fallen apart anyway. I want him in my arms, I want his body, needy and hungry, I want to push his legs apart and take him, tug at his golden bangs and fuck him so hard that his cries etch themselves in my mind so that I can replay them over and over again.

It never happens. I'm reminded of my own thoughts about him when the Sun of God Dragon appears, its eyes as red as its wielder. 'Powerful' and 'strong' don't even come close to this kind of overkill as the God transform itself into a liquid golden Phoenix, rising from the ashes. Those fucking annoying Gods, and through the eyes of Zorc I can see his smile. Atemu's smile, the very same smile he'd show me after I was done, only this time his eyes don't smile along. Not long ago, I didn't know what I was seeing in those eyes. Now I know. Now I know why he's not sorry. Why should he? He holds the upper hand, he holds the ultimate trump card. His name. Atemu. He's going to burn me to death, tearing me apart and inside out until there's nothing left of me. I'm sorry, but mostly for myself. If I had seen it sooner, I would've been able to adjust my plans and not overlook what he was doing. He probably had a good laugh at my sort-of apology. His strength wasn't in his body, which he was willing to sacrifice to achieve his goal. His strength was in his mind, and he abused my one and only weakness: himself. With a bitter, awkward grimace I accept my defeat and my fate. I'm sorry for what I've lost. It's a small consolation that there'll always be darkness. And I _am_ the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Leave me here I'm dying  
Theme number and theme: #22, Fear  
Genre: general  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none.

Character or pairing: Yami no Yuugi, Yami no Bakura, Yami no Malik  
Short summary: Even the ruthless Darkness knows fear.

* * *

"You son of a bitch." I spit at him. I can't move. I can't believe they used my own Shadows against me… I can't believe that my own Shadows _are_ against me. It's of no use to try to wrestle myself free; once caught in these dark bounds, it's impossible to escape. "The both of you," I snarl. I can't stand their faces and how smug they're looking down upon me. Pharaoh and Tomb Keeper, the most unbelievable, most unfortunate thing had happened: they worked together to trap me, the Darkness itself, and bind me with my own beloved Shadows.

Malik takes it as a compliment, of course. His stupid grin widens; one would interpret it as wolfish, deranged, but I see the eagerness and the greed behind it. I don't understand. In all my plans, I never factored in these two working together. Malik's weaker self, before he got taken over by his aggressive, dominant other personality, had hurt the Pharaoh's precious vessel, Yuugi, before. Not even I had been that bold; the thought had come up in my mind, as endangering the vessel would certainly bring out one pissed-off, over-protective Pharaoh. I never had need of the vessel, I had need of the Pharaoh.

He stares at me, with those narrow reddish eyes, face frowned as if he has to take a difficult decision. I wonder what's going on in his mind for a brief moment, before I squelch that thought. I want to know how they have managed to find each other and come up with a plan to restrain me. I must know. I am the Darkness. These bounds should mean nothing to me, yet they hold me firmly in place. The Pharaoh and the Tomb Keeper don't speak. Is this some kind of mind game? Are we playing a game at this very moment, with my life at stake? I can't die in the Darkness. But to stay here forever, bound and immobile, isn't a very appealing one.

"Get out of my sight," I say with more bravado than I actually feel. If they leave, I'll be all alone. It doesn't matter. I want them to leave. Those betraying bastards! I growl.

"You heard him." The Pharaoh speaks. The height difference between him and Malik is comical and I want to laugh. I want to mock them, this unholy couple, this unfortunate pair, as it dawns to me. How stupid must I have been, to overlook one of the most basic principles in this world, in any world? _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._ Of course..! I should've included it into the many options I considered, but for some reason, I thought that Malik hurting the Pharaoh's precious vessel would rule out any kind of collaboration. It's pissing me off; all that hard work and centuries of patience for nothing!

They don't leave, not yet. Malik of all people, turns towards the Pharaoh and puts his arm around him, pulling him closer. My eyes widen. What the..? My eyes are deceiving me, my Shadows are lying to me. Malik's darker personality, the embodiment of anger and pain, being affectionate? But I see it happen, right in front of me, that he leans into the Pharaoh and _kisses_ him; not the tender, gentle kind, but a forceful, overwhelming one. He holds him tight at the waist so the Pharaoh can't get away, but to my dismay, the other doesn't protest… he answers the kiss, tilting his head slightly and apparently complete comfortable with the way he's ravaged.

To my dismay. Why would I feel this way? Why _am_ I feeling this way? He means nothing to me. He's my goal to destroy, my enemy to exact revenge upon, why should it bother me that he's being kissed? And Malik… well, Malik's obviously crazy. I stare at the both of them; mesmerized, fascinated. I don't want to admit that a lunatic has what I wanted to have: the Pharaoh to himself. Patience, sweet patience, I've been patient for so long. One day he _will_ be in my arms and when I kiss him, I'll take his last breath with it. I watch intently, a little too intently, perhaps. My body starts to react and I turn my head away. What kind of torture is this?

"I'll see you soon," Malik's dark half promises the Pharaoh and the Shadows swallow him. He's gone. I turn my head back to face the Pharaoh, slowly.

"What did you promise him?" I ask. I must know.

He doesn't answer immediately. "My body," he finally says. I bark a short laugh.

"Fool!" …but I don't know who I'm referring to. He takes a step closer and involuntarily, a gasp escapes me. I've studied him for ages, I know how he looks like. But he's never been this close to me before, and it's like… a frightening beauty that I'll never be able to grasp, that I'll never be able to understand. My earlier annoyance and anger dissipates. He raises his hand and cups my face. I hiss as if his touch is burning me. It does, in some way. It's my enemy touching me. On the other hand, his fingers are cold, freezing cold - the Shadows aren't a welcoming, warm place.

"I promised him he could do to me whatever he wants," he says, his voice low. I find myself leaning into his touch. What the hell's going on with me?

"Release me," I say, breathily. "Release me, and we'll destroy him together."

His thumb slides over my skin. I want to taste him. "What do I need to promise you?" he asks.

 _I want your body too._ "I have never harmed your vessel," I say. "I would never harm him."

"You raise a strong point." I can't read his eyes. Those reddish eyes, framed by those long, dark lashes. I know how he looks like. I've always known how he looks like. My stomach ties itself into knots. I never really paid attention to… physical reactions before, but now it feels important. I'm worried. I'm worrying. If he leaves me here, I'll be alone. I don't want to wander the Shadows alone for millennia again. "He is very important to me."

"I have only harmed myself," I say. "My yadonushi-sama is also very important to me."

"I know." Does he stand on his tippy-toes, as his face is almost on equal level with mine? "You took Osiris' attack just to protect him."

"I did." I sound almost relieved. "See how important he is to me? See how much I understand you?"

"Bakura." He whispers my name with such intensity that it scares me. Me, Darkness itself, scared? It's a kind of fear that I can't describe well. I want his lips to touch my skin, yet my bound hands are itching to grab his throat and choke the life out of him. All my carefully laid out plans, my endless patience, everything is ruined because I didn't want to consider one possibility, one option that I had rejected because it had been too absurd for words.

He's so close that I can smell him. The desert, rough and hot, cruel and merciless. Had I been so wrong? Had all his preaching about friendship and justice and how he would save the world been a façade? How patient had the Pharaoh been? I can't come up with an answer. My churning stomach and my heart beating like crazy add to this confusing mix. Where did I go wrong? Had everything been in vain? Had he seen through my strategy even before I started to make my plans?

"Work together with me," I say and I don't care how I degrade myself by pleading. "We can get rid of Malik and end the threat he poses."

"Threat?" The Pharaoh still has his fingers on my skin, touching, caressing. Cold and hot, and it's tearing me apart. "Do you really believe that _Malik_ is a threat?"

"He has the Sennen Rod," I manage to answer. It's the first thing to come up in my mind and it sounds pretty stupid, even to my own ears. The Items aren't the standard of power here, they don't weigh into the balance at the moment. I know, and he knows, and he smiles at me. A knowing, I-have-got-you-right-where-I-want-you-to smile, devoid of any kindness. I've seen his Other smile, this Yuugi kid, all warm and happy and friendly. It made me sick. Now it makes me sick that I rather want to see _that_ smile than the one of the Pharaoh; his eyes don't match the coldness, they even _surpass_ that coldness. How can anyone with such fiery red eyes look so cold? So void?

"He has nothing," he answers and I believe him. Malik is a fool. He probably thinks he has the upper hand because of his Item, or because of his aggression. He thinks that the Pharaoh is meek and obedient as long as he doesn't hurt his precious friends. Oh, what a fool. I almost envy him. For all that he's worth, Malik's darker personality is a simple, one-track mind: total devastation, temporarily sidetracked because the object of his revenge promised him some playtime. The object of _my_ revenge as well, who's standing calmly in front of me. And I was wrong, so wrong. I wasted millennia on careful plans, on being patient, on gloating over my intelligence and how I had anticipated every move and countermove.

"Don't leave me here," I say. I can't move. My breathing is erratic, my chest heaving. He's going to leave me here, without a chance of escaping. Without any chance of help. I'm helpless and I want to scream, spit, cry, laugh and howl at the same time. I have killed. I have murdered. I have betrayed. I have mocked and I have manipulated, all for my own gain, all for my own goal. It slips through my fingers, out of reach. I actually don't blame myself for my mistakes, and I don't blame anyone else. I don't even mind a setback. I can always adjust my plans and continue. But now that the Shadows are against me, holding me back, I… can't. And I wouldn't mind that either, if it weren't for me being alone. I don't want him to leave me. He's the last… human I'll ever see.

He doesn't kiss me. His smile intensifies, just as the harsh chill coming from him. "You think I care about my vessel?" His voice is even colder than his eyes. "Do you think I care about the pain Malik can inflict on him? I only need him to be alive. That is all."

I want to shake my head. He presses his fingers painfully into my skin. "But you, Bakura of Darkness, you are much more dangerous. What you can do to my vessel, is to destroy him with your delicious Shadows. You can take him to a place he never will be able to return from. You are capable of destroying his mind, and that is something I do not want to happen. I need him to retrieve my memories, not to wander around like a mindless madman."

"That's you," I say. "You're the one whose mind is wandering around."

"Perhaps. Are we not all crazy?" He shrugs. He withdraws his hand abruptly. "I will recover my lost memories. I will find out who you really are and what you have done to me… or what I have done to you. I commend you for your perseverance, Bakura of Darkness. But your menace ends here."

"You can't..!" One more tug, one more struggle, but the Shadows don't budge. I want to lunge at him but I can't move an inch. He doesn't even flinch or take a step back. "This is your idea of justice, isn't it? You'll tell yourself you did this to protect your vessel and your friends, but you're nothing but a killer! A murderer! Your 'justice' is worth shit!"

For a moment, I think he's going to hit me in the face, but in fact he brings up his hands to button up his jacket.

"I have to go," he says. "My vessel needs to do his homework and he has agreed to meet up with his friends later today."

"Don't you dare leave me!" I roar as the Shadows start to shroud him, taking him away from me. I don't know how long it's going to take me to break myself free, if it's possible at all, and I don't know how long I can resume my previous plans - but I have been alone in the Shadows for so long as well, and I don't want to do it all over again. Of course this is what he'd choose for me as his judgment and punishment. Hatred consumes me, but it's not enough to drown out the fear. Not enough at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Title:  
Theme number and theme: #41, Power  
Genre: supernatural, slight violence  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): a little bit of blood  
Character or pairing: Clashshipping (Yami no Malik x Yami no Yuugi)  
Short summary: You can find power everywhere, even with the weirdest people and in the weirdest places.

* * *

"Your power is nothing compared to mine. Hollow, empty, pathetic."

"You are not the one to talk, Malik."

"Oh exalted Pharaoh, please share with me your infinite wisdom."

"You are not being funny."

"Why should I want to be? There's nothing funny about being a Tomb Keeper, you know."

"I know."

Malik hisses as cold, yet soft fingertips touch his back. Even though the ritual has taken place over six years ago, the scars feel like they have been made yesterday; still raw and fresh, painful and bloody.

"You know nothing."

The Pharaoh actually snorts. "Now that _is_ the truth."

Malik bats his hand away. Not a few moments ago, the Pharaoh's long, slender fingers were touching him somewhere else, and he had enjoyed it, much more than he'd ever admit. Sure, his intention had been to kill him, obviously; darkness and destruction are the only things he, the real Malik Ishtar, knows.

"Quite convenient that you lost your memories." He mimics the Pharaoh and snorts as well. "Really fucking convenient. You don't know anything about our pain and our suffering."

"You speak the truth."

Malik shakes his head. "No no no, you're not getting away with it, not that easily. Do you like playing the martyr? Are you telling me that _you_ are the victim in all of this?"

"Who knows? I do not recall anything from the past, from _my_ past. I do not know what kind of ruler I have been. I do not know what I have done to make you…"

"You made us guard your fucking precious memories," Malik snarls. "You made us guard your fucking precious Items." He takes a deep breath and grins wolfishly. "You made me defile your divine body."

That eludes a similar grin from the Pharaoh, at ease in the purplish, cloudy mass that is the Shadow Realm. Malik realizes he has his hand on the Pharaoh's right leg again, stroking. All that anger and hatred, has it disappeared just because he was able to turn him on his back and take him? No, not able to. _Allowed_ to. No matter what happened, the Pharaoh was in control all the time.

"You were talking about power."

Malik is distracted for a moment, as his fingers are kneading the Pharaoh's inner thigh. Almost repulsed, he wants to let go and push him away, but he can't.

"You have none," he answers. "It doesn't mean anything. Hollow, empty and pathetic. There's no one in this world who'll listen to you, except for your merry little gang of friends who follow you around. Do you really think there's going to be a nation waiting for you to command? You have no name. You have no voice. You have no memories. Pathetic."

"At least I am not the one screaming his head off about destroying the entire world and enveloping it in darkness." His last word gets cut off as Malik grabs him at the throat, while his other hand digs painfully in his flesh, nails tearing at the skin. It's oddly satisfying, seeing just that little flash of fear on his face before he calls upon his shadow magic; much stronger than Malik's, and he can throw him off in an instant.

"Don't mock me."

Those eyes. Those intense, reddish eyes with a purple hint, befitting the Shadow Realm. Framed with black long lashes, eyes to drown in, eyes to take complete control over you, eyes to die for…

Another gasp. He can't answer, he's too busy fighting for air. Malik feels how blood trickles down his other hand, his nails digging deep into the Pharaoh's skin. He moves his hand lower, tearing and shredding, and those reddish eyes close in pain. His lips part to pronounce that typical 'ah' sound he likes to make, half-moan, half-grunt, something unintelligible yet sexy, and Malik seizes the opportunity. He roughly presses his lips on the Pharaoh's, teeth biting down hard to create another source of pain. As he kisses him, the Pharaoh protest, his body bucking, squirming and spasming but he continues to ravage him, possessing him, dominating him. Malik's golden earrings scrape over his cheek, the tips not as sharp as the Rod, and he creates bruises and welts, yearning for pain, to inflict it, to feel it, to revel in it.

The Pharaoh presses his knee into his abdomen, twisted and contorted, but lacking the strength to push him off. Malik grins into the kiss, tugging at his bottom lip, growling and grunting. His fingers dig deep, his grip far too tight; anyone else, anyone _human_ , would've already passed out. Yet, the Pharaoh still chooses to not use his shadow magic, and Malik knows exactly why. It's just as arousing for the Pharaoh as it is for the Tomb Keeper; a weird, or funny, coincidence perhaps? Malik had always thought that the other wanted nothing but peace and quietude, but it had been more than a surprise when the King had drawn first blood, to which Malik had responded by tearing all of his clothes off, that stupid silly school uniform he was always wearing.

"You need me," Malik breathes against his lips, still tugging, distorting his words. "You have no power on your own. The shadows sing of Bakura's name. He's up to something."

He doesn't receive an answer, not that he expects one. The knee against his chest presses into his ribs; uncomfortable, but not painful. Besides, the Pharaoh isn't in a position to put any pressure or strength behind his actions; Malik still had his hand on his other leg, pressing him down, and another hand on his throat. The Pharaoh's hands are on his shoulders, fingers on his skin, once again touching the scarred lines. It's just the slightest touch, but Malik involuntarily shudders and pulls away, releasing his grip on the Pharaoh's throat. He starts to cough, taking deep gulps of breath and coughs again.

"What is it you say," he sneers as he has gathered his bearings again. "That _you_ have more power? The power to stand up to Bakura? You have nothing but a few scarred lines on your back, carved by a madman! Is this where you derive your power from?"

Malik backhands him casually, splitting his lip. A delicate drop of blood trickles over his chin, and he leans into the Pharaoh to lap it up, his tongue dragging over the cracked skin. "I told you not to mock me."

He turns his head, the Pharaoh who's much smaller and less physically strong than him, and his eyes focus on him as he gently smiles. _Power._ He's got it all backwards, hasn't he? It's not about Bakura. It's not about Darkness. All this talk about power, and Malik realizes that he's not the one with the most power. Not here. Not now. Maybe never. He moves his hand again, blood staining his fingertips, and this time his grip relaxes, kneading the flesh instead of bruising it. _Power._ It means nothing to him. After all, he's a being born out of pure hatred and anger, what does he know? He loves the shadows, he loves pain, he loves destruction and above all he loves the Pharaoh and to hurt him, knowing that the one he hates the most holds power over him, infinite power, and he's oddly fine with it, as long as he holds the power to hurt him.


	11. Chapter 11

Title:  
Theme number and theme: # 64, Black Magic  
Genre: general  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): violence.

Character or pairing: Yami no Yuugi  
Short summary: Do not ever invoke the wrath of the Pharaoh.

* * *

Pain. A world of pain, everything hurts. He doesn't understand how it happened. How could it have happened? No signs, no warnings. From one moment to another, darkness and pain. One second everything was fine and all right, the next second was an explosion of pain, and everything is dark. He's used to darkness though, it's not like his Puzzle is a shining beacon of light. _Puzzle_. He was inside the Puzzle, wandering around as usual, amidst the stairs and doors blocking his memories, trying to find that one door that would open. It was a normal school day, Yuugi had a math test this morning, nothing out of the ordinary.

He tries to move. His body feels strange, cold, limp. He can't move. Sounds. "Who is there?" It's not his voice. That raspy, squeaky sound couldn't be his voice, could it? His throat feels dry and he coughs. Another sound, like rustling fabric. He's not alone. "Who is there?" No answer.

As he can't recall what has happened, he tries to search his mind to fill in the blanks. Yuugi and his math test. After school, they'd go to Burger World, their usual place to hang out. He didn't want to be intrusive, so he stayed in the background, in his Puzzle, until Yuugi would call for him. But this… he groans. His neck hurts. He brings up his hand and touches the back of his neck - and a paralyzing fear overwhelms him. The chain is missing. He's not wearing his Puzzle! Where did it go?

He can't see anything in this darkness, his eyes need time to adjust. He needs more information to determine a strategy, to figure out what to do… Yuugi. _Aibou_. He can't feel him anymore. Ever since Yuugi solved the Puzzle, they developed a 'mindlink' of some sorts, a connection that's not exactly telepathic as they can't reach each other's thoughts, but it somehow allows them to feel each other's presence. It's not only dark around him, but it's also dark in his mind. Silent. Hollow. _Empty_. That warm, comfortable, reassuring feeling that Yuugi is there… it's gone. He tries to move again. _Get up. Don_ _'_ _t lie on the ground. Get up on your feet._ He moves, but just as he's about to push himself up, a heavy weight hits him in the back and pushes him to the floor again.

"You're awake," a voice echoes around him. He can't pinpoint the direction it comes from. "Nice. Takeru thought he'd killed you."

He grunts in return. "Who are you?"

A short, barking laugh. "O~ooh! Awake _and_ a big mouth!"

"He told us he was strong. Surrounded by pitch-black darkness and he doesn't even squeak."

 _He_? Every little piece of information is important. Why can they see _him_ when it's so dark?

"Who are you?" he repeats.

"Don't mind us." Chuckling. "You're ours to play with, for now."

"Don't get too excited, Sumatsu."

Takeru and Sumatsu. Their names didn't ring a bell at all. Had he done something bad to them? Had he wronged them somehow? He can't remember and worse, he can't ask Yuugi. _Aibou_. Where is he? The weight on his back is lifted and reflexively, he rolls over on his side. Wrong move. A foot plants itself in his stomach, and he doubles over.

"What did I say? Don't get too fucking excited! He has to remain in one piece!"

"He still _is_ in one piece," the other with the child-like chuckle responds. Sumatsu reminds him of Malik Ishtar's dark half: violent, ruthless, mindless, laughing at pain, his own or anyone else's. Takeru is more like Bakura Ryou's dark half: more cautious, apprehensive, strategic. Bakura… could he be the 'he' Takeru was talking about? Is Bakura behind all of this? Who knew. He hasn't seen him since Battle City ended, and the Spirit of the Ring draws his own plans. But it's not his style to involve others, is it?

He coughs. This darkness, however… it's not the Shadow Realm. If it were, he would've felt the despair of the roaming souls, lingering in a place where they can't move on, haunting themselves for eternity. This is 'just' a pitch-dark room. Somehow this knowledge comforts him. No innocent people were dragged into this. The next kick hits him in the back and the pain returns with a vengeance.

"Why are you doing this?" he manages to croak out. His fists punch into empty air. It's of no use. Even if he could land a hit, it wouldn't make much of a difference. He's not that strong, physically, and all of his muscles hurt, his limbs hurt, his head hurts… He never made it home, which means he's still on school grounds. Domino City High has many class rooms, storage spaces, offices… he could be anywhere in the large building. Wait... maybe this is the same room Anzu had been lured to quite a while ago, by that lecherous, perverted creep? Then this is a storage room, located far away from the class rooms, and it would be futile to cry for help; no one would hear him. Anzu... Jounouchi... Honda… where are they? He hopes they're safe, as he's in no condition to go and rescue them - _he_ needs rescuing. He's convinced his friends are looking for him. He only needs to hold on, until they find him.

"Why do you even ask?" The voice he connects to Sumatsu, sounds bored. The next moment, he's kicked again and he rolls into a fetal position. "You're the stupid one here, walking around with a chunk of gold around your neck. Did you never think someone would try to rob you?"

Another kick, and he grunts once more. Sumatsu isn't holding back, and the physical pain is hard to bear. The only comforting thought is, that Yuugi isn't in charge right now; if his aibou is hurt…

"We're going to melt it down, you idiot," Sumatsu speaks again, interspersing his words with that infuriating chuckle. "Piece by piece, chunk by chunk. We're going to be rich! And all we have to do, is to beat you up."

Where's the other one? Where's Takeru, and why isn't he talking? He rolls over again, expecting to be kicked once more and yes, the pain follows immediately. "This is boring." Sumatsu punches him on the shoulder and he cries out, surprised by the sudden attack. "We should just take that gold and be done with it."

 _Be done with it?_ With _his_ Item? With _his_ Puzzle? Anger overwhelms him. He has taken enough by now, hasn't he? These punks are trying to rob him, to take his most prized possession… _Yuugi_. Yuugi is in the Puzzle. They switched bodies when these assholes knocked him out. He had automatically taken Yuugi's place, suffering the pain. He would do anything to protect him.

"Where is it?" he growls.

"Takeru? What should we do now? This is no fun."

He's not sure what's going on. Takeru is silent, and Sumatsu grows impatient.

"Takeru? What are you doing, man? Keep it in one piece!"

"This is going to be fun," Takeru said, his voice coming from further away. "There, I'm done."

"What are you doing? You broke it?"

Broke _what_? Takeru laughs. "He told us that he loves games. Now, this is the perfect game, don't you think?"

Another chuckle, coming from Sumatsu. His voice grinds and squeaks as he joins in the laughter.

"Bakura," he mutters under his breath. Then, louder: "Did Bakura ask you to do this?"

"Huh, what? I don't know his name. He just told us stuff about you, and how we could get our hands on your gold. He said something about 'testing you', but I don't care. I just want money."

"And chicks."

"And a boat. And a Maserati. A Jaguar!"

"A plane! We could go to America!"

They both laugh. It grates on his nerves. It hurts his ears. _He said something about_ _'_ _testing you_ _'_ _._ He moves his arms, trying to stabilize himself, trying to get up. _Ignore the pain. Get up!_ His hand slides over the floor and his fingertips touch something. A small object, smooth. He grabs it, closes his fingers around it. They mentioned a game. Well, if need be… these kids are innocent, yet obsessed by their own greed. An easy prey to manipulate. Bakura is the culprit here. He doesn't know what kind of plan this is, but the thief will pay. First, he needs to get his bearings and… the object feels familiar. Heavy. His breathing hitches. Frantically, wildly, he fumbles around and there it is, another object, smooth and heavy like the other.

"Hey, I didn't tell you to start already!"

The hard kick to his stomach throws him over the floor, rolling a few times before he slams into a wall. His entire body protests, high-strung and tensed and he barely refrains from vomiting. He still holds the two objects in his hands, his fingers curled around them with such ferocity that he has to force himself to relax. He doesn't need any light to know what they are. In the distance, he hears Sumatsu and Takeru mumble. "… rules…." "…when he fails to find a piece in time…" "…kick…"

A piece. He has two pieces already. Two pieces of his Puzzle. Takeru has taken it apart and spread the pieces through the darkened room. His Puzzle. His Sennen Item. Taken apart by an innocent kid, overcome with greed. He wants to melt it down. He wants money. He wants a Maserati. The Puzzle. Yuugi's in the Puzzle. It has been taken apart. _Yuugi_ has been taken apart. His _aibou_ , shattered all over the floor.

"Yeah, that should do it," Takeru decides, sounding content. "We can start.."

"Hey, what's that? Did he bring a flashlight with him?" Sumatsu asks.

"What do you mean? The…" As he looks over his shoulder, Takeru sees a strange, lit shape in the far corner of the room. It's like… an eye or something, but stylized. Two curved lines with a dot in the middle, almost crude, but somehow terrifying. The light that comes off it, is cold and harsh. Takeru takes off his night vision goggles as the light blinds him, and he hears Sumatsu doing the same.

"Hey, what are you doing?" He asks with more bravado than he actually feels. "No fair!"

"No fair?" The booming voice startled them voice. The anger was clearly audible and Sumatsu took a few steps back. "You brought me here, you beat me, you kicked and punched me, you took something very dear from me, and you are talking about 'no fair'?"

"Hey man, it was just a joke," Takeru says, but his voice is shaky. He should never have listened to that white-haired kid with the doe eyes. _Just play a game with him,_ he had said, _test him a little. The gold is yours._ Why had he even listened in the first place? The gold… that massive chunk of gold… he just wanted a little money to fulfill his dreams...

"Just roughhousing," Sumatsu adds and chuckles again, nervously. He gasps the next second. More light, in the definite shape of two eyes; blazing, infuriated eyes with an intensity that burns them. Neither one knows who's the first who starts screaming.

He doesn't even open the Door of Darkness for them. He denies them entrance to any afterlife, to any realm of peace. He tears their souls apart, ripping them out of their bodies and shredding them in front of their eyes, glazing over as they fall to the floor as empty husks. He splits their souls in so many fragments that it's impossible to retrieve them all; blinding, hot rage that fuels his magic: dark magic, black magic, Shadow magic. The Shadow Realm welcomes the torn, fragmented souls, welcoming them as if long lost brothers, and the screaming and the wailing only stops after he has send the last piece away, the Shadow Realm hungrily accepting them, almost embracing them. The magic is gone, and he's drained. He almost collapses, not realizing that he had gotten up, his anger so all-consuming that it blocked out the rational part of his mind. What has he done? He's not the vengeful spirit anymore, is he? He vowed to stop giving out penalty games after he had learned of the sinister nature of the Sennen Items, including his own Puzzle. _Puzzle. Yuugi._ He sinks to the floor. He's still holding the two pieces, his grip so tight that they have left imprints on the palms of his hands. The ragged breathing is his. Yuugi's not gone. His aibou is right here, and he's going to be so pissed when he hears about what happened. _No more batsu games, mou hitori no boku._

"I kept my promise, aibou," he says, a smile on his face as he speaks to the darkness. "The game had not even started yet."

It takes him a while before he starts searching for the rest of the pieces. His body's still aching, his own soul's still aching… but as the magic has died down and he takes up residence in the corner of the pitch-black room, he patiently puts the pieces of the Puzzle back together. He doesn't need a light. He'll see his light soon enough, when he's done. When he finishes solving the Puzzle. His light is all that counts. He would use the darkest, blackest magic possible if that would mean he could see his light again.


	12. Chapter 12

Title: That which you speak of, will have no name  
Theme number and theme: #39, Sins  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none

Character or pairing: Yami no Yuugi & Yami no Bakura (Darkshipping)  
Short summary: Sins of the father pass on to the son.

* * *

He's handsome, I'll immediately agree to that. I have no trouble saying it out loud either. I know how he likes to hear it: whispered in his ear, a low tone of voice, almost moaning. Our Pharaoh is a little vain, but I don't mind; despite what people think or say about me, I've never told anyone a lie. So if he wants to hear he's very handsome, beautiful even, I'll tell him the truth. I'll whisper it, I'll scream it, I'll cry it out.

My hands are on his shoulders. I lean into him. "You have such small shoulders for someone with such strong arms." He doesn't answer. Is he just dozing off, or has he fallen asleep already? No, he mumbles something in return, unintelligible. I prod with my fingers as if I want to poke holes in him. His skin is firm and he tightens his muscles some; my touch isn't gentle. I didn't expect him to come visit me, after my defeat in the Battle City finals. I told him to attack me full-force, that I would spare his little friend Bakura Ryou as his body was very dear to me. I took Osiris' blast right on and it knocked more than just the wind out of me. Don't let anyone say that our Gods are merciful, because they aren't. Only by retreating into the far corners of my _yadonushi-sama's_ mind I was able to survive.

Hence my surprise when he entered my room aboard the Battle Ship. He send the girl away, who had taken it upon herself to watch over my host, and of course she abided his wish. He only had to say "Anzu, please get some rest, I will keep watch over him" and she thanked him before leaving, telling him that he was so kind. I wanted to laugh; my King being kind? How could she have known, though? She doesn't know him like I do.

"Such small shoulders to carry such a heavy weight." I should shut up before I say too much, I don't want to spoil my plans to him. This has been a very pleasant surprise, but I shouldn't let my guard down. It's tempting, though. Very tempting. I lean into him and press a kiss right there, between his shoulder blades. To think that I, a thief and a stealer of souls, is capable of kissing, isn't that strange of a notion. Somewhere, deep down, I'm human too. I haven't lost my humanity, not completely. Not yet. If it weren't for my _yadonushi-sama_ , I wouldn't have been here at all: human, spirit, vengeful ghost… or whatever one would call me nowadays. I don't care.

He hears me, but I doubt he remembers the words. I like this moment too, the moment after, when you're coming down from your high, when everything came together all at once and the sensations were too overwhelming to withstand them. Contrary to my King, I don't sleep. I don't feel at ease enough to let go of the tension. After all, he's my sworn enemy, even if he doesn't know it. Or perhaps he doesn't care. He seemed pretty pissed during the duel though, but perhaps it was his vessel's influence about 'not hurting my friend, how could you, I will never forgive you, blah blah blah'. The King I once knew wouldn't have hesitated to send Osiris after me to rip my body and soul apart.

"But you're not like that, are you?" My breath tickles on his skin and he shivers. It's just a reflex, but to be certain, I tilt my head a little to look at his face. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, features relaxed. Why does _he_ feel safe when I'm around? Why do _I_ feel safe when he's around? It was so different with Malik. Aggressive, stubborn, angry. It took me ages before I could take a look at his back and marvel at the carvings. Oh yes, it looked painful with the heavy scarring, but the symbols and hieroglyphs were more than obvious to me. It was a confirmation that I was on the right path, no matter how much time it took; the best laid plans need time to come to fruition, and I have all the time in the world. "You don't have your memories," I continue to whisper, aware that I'm walking a very fine line. If he wakes up and starts questioning me… no, I haven't come this far to let everything slip through my fingers. Not at the very last second.

His back is bare of course, no scarring there. He doesn't know anything about the horrors he put the Ishtars through, the ill-fated Tomb Keepers who are driven by hatred and revenge… he doesn't know anything, and I can't wait until the moment is there when I'll reveal everything to him, slamming him with the truth, striking him with the horrors of his reign… of his father's reign, and what he has done. I don't care that it's the son I'm after. The sins of the father pass on to the son. Akunamukanon didn't sacrifice himself, he just plain died. That he's out of reach, made it easier for me to latch onto his son. Ah, but that's just a mystery, even for me… why his son appealed to me, why his son opened up to me… because we're both the dark sides of a soul? Because he's curious if my symbiosis with Bakura Ryou is similar to his with Mutou Yuugi? I don't think so. He's vain and selfish, and he'll pay for what his father did. Until then, can't I enjoy a small moment of victory to myself?

My King is strangely submissive, the ease he turned his back to me, the way he… trusted me not to hurt him. Was it a game, some kind of test, to see how far I'd go? Or was he convinced, in his arrogance, that I simply wouldn't go far at all? I'm not sure, but does it really matter at the moment?

"You should go back to your own cabin," I say. Or room, or quarters, or whatever it's called on board of a blimp. "Won't your friends think it's strange that you've spend the night here?" Well, if they're all that gullible to believe he's keeping an eye on my _yanodushi-sama_ , then there's no problem. But I need some time to think, and I need some time to take care of things. On the other hand, I don't want him to go yet. He feels warm, and like I said before, he's handsome. I like to look at him. I'm not in love with him, absolutely not - oh no, and I'm still going to destroy him. For what he did. For what his father did. One day, one moment, he'll remember it all, when I tell him, when I whisper it into his ear. He'll be handsome in all of his agony, and I'm going to savor the pain in his eyes.

"You are right." His voice sounds so clear, so lucid, that it makes me gasp. Has he overheard me? How much has he heard? Why have I been talking so much anyway?

"You're awake," I say, feeling like a fool. I press my fingers hard in his back, but I'm not angry with him. He grunts.

"I am _now_. What are you doing?"

"Nothing." I lean into him again. "It's time for you to go."

"Yes, I know." He turns his head around to seek eye contact with me. "You were saying something about sins? I never knew you were such a talker."

I don't blush. I don't shake or tremble. I just stare back, gazing at those reddish, fiery eyes. "Don't we all have our sins?"

He frowns and for a moment, I truly believe he's going to say "I do not have any sins, for I am the Pharaoh" or any pompous shit like that, but he shows me a very small smile and says: "I guess so. You were my sin this evening."

"Get out," I hiss at him. Obedient, he rolls away from me and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. I watch him gather his clothes, and I watch him dress himself, as if he has no other care in the world. I have no idea what I have done. He can interpret my words, the ones he overheard, any way he wants. Let him stew on it, let him dwell upon it; all will become clear later, when I decide what to tell him, and how.

"What was your sin this evening?" He suddenly asks.

I bare my teeth at him. "Not knowing your name," I answer. "I would've loved to say it to your face."

Now he scrunches up his nose. He doesn't share my sense of humor. Hurtful or not, perhaps it's my sin indeed to not know his name; I haven't retained that important piece of information in my memories during those millennia. It would've given me a gigantic lead in the game I'm setting up, a key piece that would gain me almost instant victory. It's a shame. It's a sin. But I have never known my father, so the sins I'm committing are all mine. Just like his body was mine. Just like his heart will belong to me, one day, when I hold it in my hand and watch its last contractions. Then it'll be all over. No more sin. No more light. No more Pharaoh, no more people. Just Darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Embellishment  
Theme number and theme: #30, Christmas  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none

Character or pairing: Yami no Malik & Yami no Bakura (Psychoshipping)  
Short summary: Darkness will always refuse to acknowledge the light.

* * *

He stares outside, looking at the abundance of multi-colored lights adorning trees, houses and the streets. It looks festive, it's charming, but the lights appear cold to him, shining too brightly in their attempt to drown out the darkness surrounding them. Some of these well-lit decorations are massively over the top, as if the one who put them up wanted to make sure that no darkness would ever enter his or her house again.

 _Silly. Foolish._ Darkness is everywhere, and no light would be able to chase it away forever. How could darkness ever be chased away from the heart? He narrows his eyes. He's foolish himself, thinking these thoughts over and over again. He's a patient man, but even he can get impatient every now and then. This day's making him nervous, but he doesn't know why.

"There you are. Admiring the lights, Bakura?" His voice is like gravel, harsh and raspy, yet smooth in the way he pronounces his words. He accompanies his sentences with a low, throaty chuckle, not bothering to hide his disdain.

He doesn't owe him any explanation, not after everything that has happened. It seems like ages ago. "I like to see how efforts are wasted."

A snort. "What are those lights about anyway?"

"It's to celebrate something called 'Christmas'. Didn't your host tell you?"

"Don't be stupid. He doesn't even realize I'm still around."

Bakura's lips curl up into a joyless smirk. "I would love to see the Pharaoh's face when he realizes he has failed."

"Speaking of which… will His Majesty join us for this… festive meeting?"

He shakes his head. "My yadonushi-sama has invited him for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"That's the actual day of Christmas. This evening is called 'Christmas Eve'."

"'Christmas Eve'," he repeats, incredulous. "Anything to keep oneself distracted, I guess."

"How did your host react?"

A mere shrug. "My shujinkaku-sama was very pleased with the invitation. After Battle City, nothing much has changed. It's not like his life has magically taken a turn for the best. He lacks the willpower to take matters into his own hands."

"He had the willpower to cast _you_ out, Malik."

"Don't get me started." He grins nonetheless. "His 'surrender' was the most pathetic thing he could've ever done."

He doesn't answer. Does the other speak the truth? Was it truly Malik Ishtar's 'most pathetic thing' he could've ever done? He's not so sure. His own host is often silent, it's not like they interact much - but Bakura Ryou has stopped the Darkness more than once, thwarting his plans. An unexpected setback, just as he was about to win; his yadonushi-sama made it clear to not mess with his friends. His 'friends', including the Pharaoh. Bakura stares in front of him, mesmerized by the holiday lights. What does it all mean to his host? He hasn't decorated his own apartment, but he has invited Malik to come over. To think that he would accept said invitation… after all, they barely know each other! …but he's aware of his yadonushi-sama's happiness that the Egyptian has come over at this time of the year, leaving his siblings behind. What does it mean? Is he overlooking something?

Malik stands too close to him. He doesn't like it when people stand too close to him. He's a loner, he's always been alone. Ever since his family has been killed… his hand goes to his chest, to the Ring. It gives him comfort, as far as he needs anything like 'comfort', to touch it, to make sure it's still there.

"It's magnificent." Malik's voice all but startles him. As if he has forgotten that he was there, and Bakura takes in a deep gust of breath.

"You haven't got yours anymore, do you?"

"No. My shujinkaku-sama surrendered that one as well. As he did with your Ring."

A crooked smile. The Ring always returns to him, without fail. Has the Pharaoh realized yet it has gone missing? Would he admit his second failure? Malik isn't surprised to see it again. A creature of Darkness, the both of them; they're not equal, but not that different from each other either.

"You're…" His sentence is cut short as Malik grabs him with his hands on his waist and pulls him roughly closer, smashing his lips against his. He wants to push him away, but Malik's hands are everywhere; Bakura's smaller wrists are caught in a vice-like grip and his body refuses to obey him, overwhelmed by the other's brute force. He reaches for the shadows in an attempt to summon them, but then it's over already. It's Malik who pushes him away and he almost loses his balance.

"What the hell was that about?" he angrily demands to know.

"Don't get too close," Malik answers. His pupil-less are bland, yet ironically beautifully lit by the Christmas lights outside, shining through the window. "My shujinkaku-sama is mine. I have plans for him."

" _Too_ close?" The absurdity of the moment almost makes him want to laugh.

"Don't you know what Christmas Eve means?"

Bakura purses his lips, and tastes a small droplet of blood. "What's the meaning of Christmas Eve?"

"It's a holiday for couples to spend time together, and exchange gifts. You don't know?" The amusement in his voice is infuriating. Malik tilts his head. "Consider this my gift to you. I'll spare you your life, if you step back."

"You…" It dawns on him, the reason why his host has invited the other hosts over. Not the Pharaoh, he's invited out of politeness to celebrate Christmas, but Malik… to spend the night before Christmas. It's almost funny. Who's more pathetic? Malik or Bakura, who hopes to chase away his loneliness? _Is that what you're looking for, yadonushi-sama? Someone to share your grief and pain with?_ Those lovely, lovely shadows that have surrounded him his entire life, consuming him every day, they have blinded him for the truth; Bakura Ryou is far stronger than he thinks he is. Malik shows disdain for his own host, treats him with indifference, like an object. He'll make the same mistake; he'll underestimate his shujinkaku-sama. He deems him pathetic, deems him weak - only to mask his own weakness, his fear of being banished once more. Does he fear the Pharaoh's arrival tomorrow? Does he think that he was only invited to be banished again?

"Don't ever touch me again," he grumbles. "I'll tear you apart."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You'd make your host terribly, terribly upset." The confidence in his voice matches the Pharaoh's, but there's just this little hitch to it, a little tilt, only noticeable if you know where to pay attention to.

"I don't care for my host's emotions," Bakura gives back. "I only need him as a vessel."

Malik remains silent. In any other circumstances, Bakura would describe him as handsome. His flawless tan skin, so fascinatingly contrasted by his platinum blond hair and golden jewelry, those mesmerizing eyes with the dark lashes… but he doesn't care for beauty. There's no room in his plans, his life, for anything aesthetical; he hasn't felt any love for anything since the moment he found himself lost in the shadows. He'd been so young… but Malik had been young too, when the ritual took place that gave birth to the dark side standing just a few steps away from him. Maybe that's what his yadonushi-sama is after. To share. To love.

"I'm leaving," Malik suddenly announces. "It'll be too conspicuous if my dear shujinkaku-sama experiences too many blackouts in a row. I don't want to alert him of my presence. Not yet."

"I know." Bakura looks at him blankly. "Maybe you should ask the Pharaoh for some tips and tricks on how to smoothly interact with your host. It would make life so much easier for you."

"You're an idiot." It's so easy to anger him. "You call yourself the Darkness, but you acquired your powers. I was _born_ from the Darkness, and I doled in the shadows long before anyone could ever know of my existence. You have no right to criticize me, Bakura. I vanquished you before, and I'll vanquish you again."

Words. Sentences. What does it matter? He doesn't need Malik. He doesn't fit in his plans. He's not welcome. Bakura squints his eyes, just a little.

"Are the lights too bright for you?" This time, his voice's just that little bit lighter. Curious, child-like.

"I shouldn't stare into them, but I think they're so pretty." He turns his head to the side. "I'm really glad you could make it, Malik-kun."

A relieved smile. "Yes, I'm glad too. I wasn't really sure at first, returning to this place… but it's a good thing I did."

"A really good thing." He doesn't add anything more. The silence is comfortable, despite the darkened room, bringing out the intense brightness of the lights outside.


	14. Chapter 14

Title: All that is lost  
Theme number and theme: #29, Forgotten  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): (thoughts of) explicit violence

Character or pairing: Darkshipping (Yami no Yuugi x Yami no Bakura)  
Short summary: Reminiscing isn't the same as taking a trip down memory lane.

* * *

He's asleep. As he should be; I kept him busy more than long enough to totally and completely drain him. As a matter of fact, I should be asleep as well; my body is longing for the rest, and somewhere deep inside I might even enjoy lying down next to him. No rest for the wicked, isn't it? It's too much of a risk. My Host has school tomorrow, and it's already late. I still have work to do. My apologies, _yadonushi-sama_ , but it's going to be a short night for you.

I should put on my clothes and leave. I get up from the bed and look around for the garments, cast aside on the floor, lying here and there. It takes me a little time to gather them all and I dress myself slowly, every movement silent and stiff. I keep my eye on him, and tell myself that I like to keep watch over my prey, to immediately respond should something change - him waking up, for instance - but inside, I know better. I wanted to call him by his name, but he has forgotten it. I don't remember it either.

Strange. Well, it's actually not that strange. The human mind is prone to remember bad experiences, traumatic experiences, awful experiences - not the happy, fluffy, wonderful kind of memories. There must've been a time when I had a mother, and I'd like to think that she held me lovingly, just like any mother would hold her newborn. But what I remember, is seeing her bloodied and battered, lying on the ground with broken eyes and blood gushing from deep wounds all over her face. Her hand, outstretched, the fingers in unnatural angles. Was she reaching for me?

She got lucky. At least she was already dead before she was thrown into that… cauldron. Before she was turned into an ingredient and mixed together with gold to create those forsaken Sennen Items. I can still hear the screams of those who were still alive before they were cooked. Those horrible screams when flesh came into contact with boiling liquid. The smell. That awful smell. That's why I eat my meat as raw as possible. I can't stand the smell of cooked meat.

The Puzzle is on the nightstand. He's been terrible sloppy to just put it there; he should praise himself lucky I don't have a need for his Item, just yet. My hand reaches for it before I can stop myself and my fingers touch the solid, sleek surface. Pure gold. Heavy gold. How much would it be worth in modern currency? But I know it's too valuable to sell. I stare at the object. Ironically, I admire the craftsmanship: pure perfection, just like the pyramids. The irony that a rowdy, dirty town of thieves has contributed to this magnificent beautiful object, isn't lost on me.

I only have to carry this Item over to the bed to smash his skull in. To dig the sharp, pointy tip into his temple, to slam it into skin and bone. Just one blow with the mere weight of the Puzzle, and he won't ever wake up again. Just look at him, in all his vulnerable glory; naked as the day he was born, spend and used, sleeping in blissful ignorance, amazing arrogance, counting on waking up in the morning. Maybe it would be fun to draw out his vessel, his Other, and make him beg for his life while holding the Puzzle up in front of him.

It's not going to happen. I have to restrain myself. Unlike the other, I haven't forgotten. I remember the time of Pharaoh and Thief King, I remember those stolen moments in the royal palace, when his guards would run outside in panic, searching for that miscreant daring to tread on sacred ground. There wasn't so much sacred about a Pharaoh, lying naked under you, his lips attached to your throat, his breathe warm and tickling, his voice heavy with lust, demanding to take him… and I complied, using my red cloak as a cover, as a blanket to cover his erratic breathing and his cries…

I have forgotten if he cried out my name. He has forgotten everything. "Lucky fuck," I mutter under my breath as I sit down on the bed again. I only need to put on my shoes. The Puzzle resides on the desk, defiled by my touch, but not moved an inch. It's his. I have no use for it, yet. I twist a little, so I can touch him, my hand on his face. Mumbling something unintelligible, he leans into my touch. His body hasn't forgotten. It still responds the same to me as three thousand years ago. My lips curl into a smile of pleasant arrogance.

"I hope you had a wonderful night," I say, keeping my voice low. An attentive lover would've covered him up with a blanket, tucked him in, kissed him goodnight. I'm not attentive. I'm selfish. I made sure I got the most pleasure out of it. "I had. We'll do this again sometime soon, okay? When you've taken another step closer. When you've learned more. When you have forgotten less."

I ran my thumb over his cheek. Despite the change in body, he still looks beautiful. Smooth. Polished. High-born. The fact that he cries and begs for a lowlife thief to take him, is the more amusing to me. I wonder how his vessel feels about this, if he already knows. Mutou Yuugi… he was smart and perseverant enough to solve the Puzzle in the first place, so there must be something to him that has eluded me so far. I don't regard him as a very powerful player on the field, though. He might be deserving of my attention later on, and in the meantime it might be fun if my yadonushi-sama approaches him, trying to find out what exactly he knows about what's happening.

"You're lucky you've forgotten everything," I say. Very gently and very lightly, I tap on his lips. "I know how happy you are with your friends and how you've made many new memories with them." I lean into him, my lips close to his. "I fucking _despise_ you for your happy memories and your loving fun with your _friends_ ," I all but growl and he reacts; a whimper, a gasp, a hitch in his throat and for a moment I think I have woken him up. He frowns, brows knitting together in some kind of disgust and he parts his lips. I expect him to open his eyes and yell at me, but nothing happens. He sighs and turns his head to the right, his rest uninterrupted.

I want to slap him. I want to beat him. I want to curl my hands around his tender throat and choke the life out of him. I want to tie him down and unleash my anger and fury and scream at him _why have you fucking forgotten_? But I know the reason why, and it's painful and beautiful at the same time. I only wish I had retained one piece of information, one little bit of knowledge more: his name. I would've made him scream it, or perhaps I would've screamed it myself. Blissful, sweet peace… for now.

My fingers trace the outline of his face, dabbing at his jaw line. "One day," I promise him, "sooner or later, I'll make you wish you've never forgotten. All your memories will come flooding back to you, in all their painful glory, in all their heart-wrenching hatred and anger. It'll drive you mad, o Exalted One, and you'll lash out at everyone around you, feeling betrayed and hurt. Maybe I'll be there to pick up the pieces, I don't know. Maybe I'll be angered myself, disappointed that you've forgotten all about me. No one uses the Thief King. No one turns the tables on him. I'll make you beg for your life, for your friends' lives, for the entire world. Perhaps I'll listen. Perhaps I have forgotten to listen."

I can't help myself, I have to give him one more kiss. I don't know how long it'll take before we'll be 'together' like this. We both know it's a game. We both know the Shadows are involved. We know that one of us is going to die, if not both. A kiss on the cheek, then. I receive another sigh in return. I get up from the bed, locate my shoes and put them on. Maybe it's not that bad to have forgotten. We all will be forgotten one day. What will become of us, apart from floating memories in the vast space of darkness? Endlessly moving around in the Shadow Realm, without a conscience, without any notion? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. I want my revenge, and I will get it - that's something I've never forgotten about.


	15. Chapter 15

Title: Never get out of here Alive  
Theme number and theme: #9, Tournament  
Genre: general  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none.

Characters: Yami no Bakura, Yami no Malik, Malik Ishtar  
Short summary: Even in the most hopeless situations, pacts can be born.

* * *

Look at him standing over there. A little hunched over the bed, talking to himself, holding a golden, shining object in his hand. I observe him from my beloved shadows, providing a safe cover until it's time to reveal myself. I would feel pity for the man in the bed, obviously in a coma - Malik has told me he's his adoptive brother called Rishid - but pity is for the weak, and my sense of pity has been warped through the ages of wandering around in pure, unadulterated Darkness. In short: I couldn't care less if that man is killed or not. He's a bystander, a comatose one to boot; he doesn't contribute to the game, he doesn't attribute to the setting. Collateral damage. He has no link to the Pharaoh and he isn't the Pharaoh himself, so why would I even care?

 _Save him,_ the voice in the back of my mind keeps calling out to me. _Save my brother!_ I don't like taking orders. Wouldn't it be amusing to just keep standing here, and let the events play out..? I haven't seen human blood in a long, long time. I watch with growing interest. He's fidgeting with the object, one of the seven majestic artifacts known as the Sennen Items. I widen my eyes. I didn't know there was a dagger concealed in the Sennen Rod! What do you know, you learn something new every day. _Savehimsavehimsavehim_ , the voice has become a loud wail. Impressive. I didn't expect Malik Ishtar to have this much strength. For now, he's reduced to a mere spiritual presence and his original body is standing next to the bed. If I'm not fast enough, he's going to kill Rishid after all.

I allow the Ring to chime before I step out of the shadows. It's always such a sense of satisfaction, seeing someone look up with either fear or surprise in their eyes when they hear that sound. The dark side of Malik Ishtar surprises _me_ by not even looking up. I can see him scowling though, but he doesn't plunge the dagger into the man in the bed. In fact, he slowly turns to me, visibly angry.

"Sorry for interrupting you," I say. That anger, that hatred in his eyes… it's invigorating, sending delicious chills down my spine. I recognize that hatred, and if shadows were able to eat, they'd have a massive banquet with this guy's hatred. Quite ironic that his original personality, now seeking refuge in my mind, is such a pathetic whiny mess, still wailing about his brother.

"You must have a very good reason," he answers, leaving the "…or else…" unspoken. His voice is just a little lower than regular Malik's, but the disdain and arrogance he speaks with, is delectable. It's going to be my pleasure to bring him down on his knees and make him plead for his life.

"You know who I am?" I ask.

"The Spirit of the Ring." Good, so he's been paying attention at least since my duel with the Pharaoh. Or perhaps he knows me from the beginning, when I ran in front of Malik's motorcycle to stop him. I had sensed the wielder of another Sennen Item, and we made our first pact in that back alley. Not even Malik himself is sure when his darker side was actually sentient or aware of everything that's been happening in this tournament.

"And you are…" I can't finish my sentence as he uses the power of the Sennen Rod to push me back, and I smack against the wall painfully. The wind is knocked out of me, and I gasp, clutching at my chest. Malik has warned me for this. His darker half is exactly who he said he would be: violent, _dark_. I should've expected this. I try to laugh it off, but he stopped paying attention to me. Instead, he has turned to the bed again, lifting up the Rod. My Ring chimes again, paralyzing him.

"What are you _doing_?" he growls.

"I'm not afraid of you." I lower the tone of my voice. "The powers of our Items are equal."

"Perhaps we should settle this in another way." Funny how he doesn't seem impressed. Most people would scream and beg when confronted with such powers. It's an exciting thought that this one may be the hardest to bring down. It's been a while since I've been challenged like this. I allow the Ring to cancel its powers and the dark entity can move freely again. He taps on the Dueling Disk attached to his left arm. "A duel? A battle for my poor _shujinkaku-sama_ 's body and soul?"

I make a dismissive gesture with my arm. "No, not for his body or soul."

That surprises him. He really thought this was about his body, the original Malik's body. He's still surprisingly calm though, with only the anger showing on his face, not in his voice. His movements are controlled, and there's this hint of amusement surrounding him, as if this is one big joke, one big fun playtime thing to him. I… don't like unpredictability very much. I have never factored a person like Malik's darker personality in my plans and I'm usually not quick to adapt. However, this is an opportunity I can't pass on. If I win this duel, I can get the Rod in my hands. I point at the Rod and he lifts it.

"This?" Now he sounds possessive. He doesn't like the idea of betting his beloved Item.

"I gladly accept your challenge," I say.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Taunting. "Maybe you should go back to bed and rest up, after what Osiris did to you."

"I'm _fine_ ," I snarl at him and immediately berate myself mentally. Taking Osiris' attack full-on was a huge setback. My host's body hasn't fully recovered yet. After winning the Rod from Malik's dark half, I really do need to go back to bed. I can't run the risk of collapsing. "Let's go upstairs to the dueling ring."

"Tsk, tsk, such hurry." He screws the cap back on, excruciatingly slow. His eyes rest upon me; now I notice he has no pupils. Weird. How can he keep such a calm, blank exterior with so much hatred and anger running underneath? Somehow he forces me to wait, to watch his movements.

"What's the delay?" I ask. He cradles the Sennen Rod to his chest, fingers running up and down the long shaft.

"The winner gets the Rod," he says. "And the loser..?"

"Well, a one-way trip to the Shadow Realm, of course."

He grins at me. "So you're not going to fight over my body? How does my _shujinkaku-sama_ feel about that?"

"I don't know and I don't care." I wander my mind just briefly, in search of Malik, but I can't find him. Maybe he has retreated into the farthest corners, and I don't have the time to poke him out of his lethargic state. He promised me to help me with the duel - he knows his own deck best and besides the Rod, obtaining the Winged Dragon of Ra would be an even sweeter victory. Malik is desperate enough to have his original body destroyed, and I can always evict him from my mind, a residue of a weak personality is not difficult to erase.

His eyes travel over _my_ body and come to a rest at the Ring. "You're a fool if you're collecting all the Items."

I touch the Ring in an almost identical possessive manner. "So what if I am? It doesn't concern you."

"You're right." He turns away from the bed, the dark purple cape swishing behind him. For now, this Rishid is safe. Hopefully he appreciates the great sacrifice of his younger brother. It's amusing. Humans and their 'sacrifices' are so amusing. But now I have to deal with an entity of darkness, and it gets my blood boiling. Annoyance, excitement, anticipation and apprehension. "What do you say, when I suggest we should up the ante?"

"What do you mean?"

He tilts his head in almost child-like curiosity. "The duel. Let's turn it into a Shadow Game."

My blood isn't boiling, it's howling. The taste of the shadows, the stress of the dark, ominous Realm, the chill and the devouring heat, all together... it's calling for me, it wants me back, it wants me to control it. I _am_ the Darkness. Why should I be afraid? I played Shadow Games from the moment I was born. I don't hesitate.

"I can't wait," I say.


	16. Chained to the Clock

Title: Chained by the clock  
Theme number and theme: #8, Time  
Genre: general, introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings (if any): none

Characters: Yami no Bakura, Yami no Yuugi  
Short summary: There's always time to get to know your enemy better.

* * *

I pour the tea. I can be polite if I want to. Most of the time, I choose to be rude and curt - I don't care for nice manners, unlike my _yadonushi-sama_ , my Host. But even for him, I wouldn't pour tea. Today, I'm in the rare company of a Pharaoh; 'Other Yuugi', as he calls himself, as he doesn't know his own name. It's a pity, truly; I'd like to know his name as well.

"I hope you like it," I say pleasantly. "It's Gyokuro tea. Cultivated only in the Uji District, it generally sells for $650 for 1000 grams."

He wraps his long, slender fingers around the teacup and lifts it up. He's not speaking; maybe he's wondering where I got the tea from, maybe he's wondering why I invited him for tea in the first place. He inhales the delicate aroma though, and sips gently, sampling the magnificent taste. I appreciate him taking his time to enjoy the exquisite blend, not gulping it down like some boorish commoner. But ah, well, this is the Pharaoh I'm entertaining; not a normal person, not a commoner by far.

It's a funny thought, actually. Two Kings at one table and we're gauging each other's reactions carefully, examining and weighing our words and our emotions. He's got every reason to distrust me, of course. After what happened during Duelist Kingdom, he regards me with a healthy dose of suspicion. Still, his curiosity got the better of him, hence his acceptance of my invitation.

I present him a small plate with dates on it, neatly arranged and cut into thin slices, as in the spokes of a wheel. Of course he takes a slice; how often would he be able to eat this product from his ancient homeland in the Mutou household? I watch him savor the taste.

"Unfortunately, it's not exactly as it used to be at home," I say, and to my disappointment he doesn't react to 'home'. He knows so little, and deep down I'm aching to fill him in on some details, but now it's not the time. Not yet.

"You certainly have made a great effort," he says, meeting my gaze, "to create a comfortable setting." His hand goes to his chest thought, fingers touching the heavy chain around his neck. I'm not interested in his Sennen Puzzle, even though I wear my Ring out in the open as well; we're both wielders of these Items, why not show it? "I am glad that you did not choose to have your host involved in all of this."

Well, who did all the grocery shopping and cutting the dates..? Does he really think _I_ bothered to do such menial tasks? It's a moot point though, but I make a mental note to thank my yadonushi-sama later. I can hear him humming in the back of my mind, oblivious to what's going on.

"I'm just as protective of my host as you are of your vessel," I tell him, a little airily. He purses he lips, almost like a pout; he doesn't like his precious partner to be referred to as a mere 'vessel'. I don't care. His oh-so-wonderful bond with his sickly-happy friends is going to kill him in the end, even if I have to take personally care of it. "We are much more alike than you think."

He's not happy with that thought at all. Poor Pharaoh, his face is like an open book to me.

"What is your intention with all of this?"

I expect him to throw his tea at me, dainty and huffing like a young girl, rejected by her object of affection. It's not that I think of him like that, though I have entertained the possibilities in my mind, but he reminds me of a young child, covering up his innocent-naivety by acting extremely confident and secure. But I know how far from innocent he truly is. It'll be revealed to him, all in due time.

"Kaiba announced his plans for Battle City yesterday."

"Are you going to participate?" The anxiety in his voice is from excitement, not from fear. I have to give him credit for at least one thing: he won't back out of a challenge quickly, and he enjoys facing tough opponents. I'm not going to disappoint him in that department.

"I might." I take precious time to enjoy my cup of tea; my Host was very surprised when he found it in one of his kitchen cabinets, not remembering ever having bought it. Of course I didn't make him pay for it; how could he ever afford it?

"Are you after the God Cards?" His confusion is adorable. I'm not sure where he got that knowledge from, perhaps he spoke to Kaiba, or he has obtained that information through his vessel…. it doesn't matter, it's not that important. I don't care for the God Cards anyway. "Last time, you wanted to take my Puzzle."

Again that stroke with his fingers, this time touching the artifact, in a protective, possessive manner. I know it all too well.

"Don't worry," I say even though _my_ fingers are itching to take the Item away from him. And choke him with that chain while I'm at it. Patience, sweet patience. I've got all the time in the world. "I'll make my true intentions known, soon…" My voice trails off on purpose. He sends me an annoyed look, but I refuse to elaborate.

"Who are you?" he asks brusquely. I send him a pleasant smile in return.

"That's for me to know." Delicious, delicious tea. "You'll find out. You still have some time left."

His lips curl into a snarl, but he doesn't speak. His posture is rigid though, and I revel in his ignorance. He doesn't know what I've got in store for him, and I intend it to enjoy it to the fullest. I offer him the plate with the dates once more, and it takes him visible restraint to not tremble as he picks another slice. I shouldn't underestimate his willpower, I remind myself. He battled Pegasus and his mind tricks, and he emerged as the winner. I hadn't really expected anything otherwise; even though he's barely aware of it, there's millennia old of Pharaoh-ness instilled in him, so to say - he has retained his Pharaonic mindset and composure throughout all that time, centuries of time, wandering around in his Puzzle. He plays to win. He knows how to win.

I'm not a bad opponent myself. I'm going to give him hell. The reason why I invited him over, was not to antagonize him. Not to befriend him. Not to butter him up. I want to gain insight in my enemy, in what he's thinking, in what he's doing… so far, he's as docile as a lamb; he doesn't know yet, he doesn't realize all the stakes, the entire magnitude of the game. Or does he, and he's playing _me_ now, by pretending to be ignorant? It's exciting, it's thrilling. No shadows at the moment, no dark, mysterious realms - just the two of us, seated opposite each other, politely having tea.

"Will you tell me how much… or how little time is left?" He knows I know, and he recognizes me as a challenger. Good. I almost want to give him a pat on the shoulder.

"Just wait until Battle City," I say ominously. Damn, but his eyes are hypnotizing. "Then the game will start." I can't really determine whether he's somehow mocking me or overestimating me. I'd like to strip him of his arrogance and dig deep into his psyche, establishing once and for all what he truly thinks of me. I didn't think I'd care, but I do. I want to know where I stand. I want to know what my starting position is in this game. He has his friends. He has his vessel. He has already gathered more people around me than I've ever had in my life. I like to work alone, but perhaps this time, I need some allies myself. This time. This time it's going to be one hell of a ride.

"I thank you for the tea," he says and stands up from the chair. I follow his example. We're not bowing to each other for obvious reasons.

"You're welcome," I say, even though it's the biggest lie in the entire universe. I'm proud of myself, for not jumping at him to kill him, and to receive him as a guest in my house instead. I can't help myself from taunting him a little, however. "Take good care of yourself."

The look on his face is priceless. I shut the door quietly. I don't allow my yadonushi-sama to take control of his body again so soon. I have to think. Time has taught me to be cautious, time has taught me to make plans, and plan for the absolutely worst thing that could ever happen. Maybe I won't need them after all, and I'll have to improvise… perhaps time's running out faster than I thought.


	17. Chapter 17

Title: There's no telling what I want to tell you  
Theme number and theme: #5, Truth  
Genre: introspective  
Rating: M  
Warnings(if any): mentions of gore and violence  
Character or pairing: Yami no Malik  
Short summary: Hatred and pain festers in one's heart, but what has truth got to do with it?

Key: - = scene change

* * *

I hate you. I hate you too. I've always hated you. The moment I saw you, I hated you. I know you're not surprised by this, but on the other hand, you're not very bright. To think that you are supposed to be the dominant personality, actually makes me laugh. You're pathetic. You cry hot tears every night that you're so afraid of the dark. You ask your sister to keep on a nightlight. You ask your brother to tuck you in at night so you know there aren't any monsters around.

I'm the biggest monster of all, and I'm you. A monster called truth, and you know it. Deep down, you know it all, you know it very well, but you pretend that nothing's wrong, there's no darkness, la la la, happy unicorn paradise rainbow land.

That's why I hate you the most. You're a weak, pathetic, whining coward. If it weren't for me picking up the Rod, you would still live according to your father's will… or should I say, your father's tyranny? Have you forgotten how he _smiled_ , when heating the blade in the light of a candle? You should be thankful, grateful, that I took care of that problem. I killed him, I stabbed him and skinned him alive, tore it straight off of him and smelled his blood, _tasted_ it, so salty and coppery and sweet at the same time, delicious delicious.

But no. You had to scream and yell and cry for your big brother, you baby. You had to be comforted by him, who's not even a _real_ Ishtar by birth. He's merely adopted, he should be nothing more to you than a simple servant. You care for him because you had nobody else to turn to, and he listened patiently to your crying and wailing, and dried your precious tears.

I tell you the truth. I'm the truth. There's nothing dishonest about me and I don't tell lies. You can deny it as much as you want, but you know it, and I know you know. You want your revenge, but you don't want the consequences. You want to get out of your shell, but you're afraid, that your plans will fail, that you won't get what you want, or what you feel you're entitled too.

You gave me full reign once. You can do it again. The truth is, deep down somewhere in that weak, feeble body of yours, or perhaps deep down somewhere in that conflicted, soft brain of yours, you want more. It feels _good_ to hold the Rod and plunge it deep into tender flesh. To withdraw it and lick the blood off of the dagger, and feel how the razor sharp blade cuts your tongue; blood mixed with blood, divine liquid, nectar of the Gods… I'm sure you would like the taste, if you give it a chance.

That control, to _be_ in control… to not cower behind your silly 'fears', but to take matters into your own hands. A dagger. A knife. A gun. A sword. What better way to take care of problems than to solve with violence? You think there's no truth in violence? That it's not the answer? Well, is your father bothering you still? Is he still carrying that whip of his around, to beat you? I don't see him, that man who grinned when he carved your back, and I grinned along, because I loved the pain. It was so warm and so heavenly, the tip of that knife, so hot and sharp.. it didn't cut, it melted the flesh away and forced it to take shape, pushing the skin into a mold.

Truthfully, I enjoyed the ceremony. I don't know the meaning of the word 'painful'. Everything is painful to you. The memory of your murdered father, so you pushed it away. The memory of the Pharaoh, so you set out to seek your revenge. The memory of living underground, so you stay on a boat or you ride your bike, just to get away from a building. Should I tell you to confront your fears? Should I tell you to take the plunge, to jump into the deep? No. I like you scared and sour, because it feeds me. I _want_ you to be angry and full and pain and self-pity. It's the truth, isn't it? You hate me because I am you, because I hate you, because life hates you and you hate everything about life.

Now now, don't be upset. You don't have to listen to me. The truth is always hard they say, but I've got a quick solution and no, it doesn't involve violence, for once. You can always deny truth. You can always ignore it. It doesn't exist! Problem solved! There's no truth but _your_ truth, and the rest can go to hell. They can all fall into the darkness, into nothingness, and curse each other for not paying better attention. For not fighting back. They will claw at each other just for their own survival, gouge each other's eyes out and cut off their lips, using their nails to split and splice their sweet flesh, and cry, cry delicious cries of anguish, just like you do.

You don't like the truth? Change it. Challenge it. Cherish your denial. Comfort yourself with your lies and your hatred, use it as a cloak, as a blanket, as a cover. It's so beautiful, why should you be ever afraid of hatred? Of darkness? You were born into it, you gave birth to me because of it - why, you should make love to the darkness, embrace it, touch it, _kiss_ it; it's where you belong, safely in its arms.

You didn't expect to hear this, did you? And even if you did, you won't pay attention to it, you'll deny it just like you deny everything. Your delicious truth is your own, but it's a bunch of lies. I'm your truth. Pure, unadulterated hate. Pain. Anger. Destruction. Darkness. Why even bother to hide from it? All this light doesn't serve a purpose. Friends don't serve a purpose, family… hah! Family is not an anchor, it's ballast; why would you need your precious brother and sister when you have _me_?

I understand you. I know exactly how you feel. I _am_ you, interior and exterior, inside and outside, from that cramped smile on your face to your wicked self-loathing in your heart. I would almost pity you, if I knew _how_ to pity; I only hate, remember?

Truth. It's nothing but a concept. Love. Friends. Family. Pharaoh. It's not that hard. Just words. Think of it as a concept, that you can mold and knead to your own liking. Of course I'm telling you to lie. A lie is another concept, why should you feel bad about it? What's that, you say? It hurts your family when you lie? Pffrt, a lie is just a lie. Another concept, get it? If they choose to get upset by their own perception of the truth, which is a lie to you anyway, who is lying? It's not your problem how they view your words. Come on, don't be so afraid.

I have always told you the truth. I have never beaten around the bush. You're an instrument of darkness and you want revenge and you're full of hatred and anger. What do you expect? Do you want to drink tea with your sister and perpetuate the traditions of your tribe? Do you want to plant flowers and roses and take care of them? Admit it, you're not the nurturing kind - you're the destructive kind.

One thing's true about the truth, though. It's cold. And hard. And dark. Exactly the way I like it. I'll be waiting for you until you realize it, and accept it with all your hatred and anger. Nothing beats hateful truth. It's a catalyst. It's a motivator. It's who you are.


End file.
